


Coq Au Vin

by akisawana



Category: RWBY, Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon has been slow roasted @ 225 and carved for juicy bits, Car Accidents, Coming out of the Closet, Depression, Families of Choice, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Polyamory, Qrow in an oxygen mask, Suicidal Thoughts, a surprising lack of eye gore, ass full of pine needles, funky little death omens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 07:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20811602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akisawana/pseuds/akisawana
Summary: On the south coast of Patch there's a little town called Pelican, with a bar called the Stardrop Saloon and a Jojamart and a family of crows.





	Coq Au Vin

**Author's Note:**

> Note the first: As always, thank you to aerialbots for the beta and tags, all mistakes remaining are of course my own
> 
> Note the second: I may have missed some warnings, please proceed at your own risk, there is very little healthy in this story.
> 
> Note the third: This is shameless self-indulgence, bearing only the most passing resemblance to canon. Holes have been filled with wild abandon.
> 
> Note the fourth: For once, I wrote a story with no eye trauma, prostitution, or vomit. Go me!

Shane’s first love is chickens, always, but that doesn’t stop him from appreciating other birds, like the crow family that’s been living behind Joja Mart for as long as he’s worked there. He brings them crow-crack -unsalted peanuts -and acorn caps to play with, and on his lunch break sometimes one or another will come talk to him. He doesn’t know what they’re saying, but he appreciates it anyways, and in the winter when it gets dark before he gets off one of them will flit from tree to tree in the twilight, following him until he’s inside the light and the warmth of the Stardrop.

Shane’s favorite one isn’t really family, as far as he can tell. He’s bigger than the others, doesn’t look anything like them, sometimes disappears for weeks at a time. Older brother, Shane would almost think, that’s how crows work, or maybe an uncle. He’s the most serious crow Shane’s ever met, and the other crows are never happy to see him like they are Shane. 

He’s the smartest one, too. He’s the one that brings Sebastian’s cigarette butts to keep the bugs away from the nest, the one that knows to peck open food Morris has damaged out. He’s the only one Shane’s ever seen with blood on his beak, in the spring-summer when the babies start leaving the safety of the nest. The wandering crow does more for the family than Shane ever does, and the other birds learn from him, let him nearer the nest than any non-trusted bird could ever get. But they don’t dance like they do on the silver-old picnic table when Shane comes out.

That, more than how smart he is, is what makes Shane like him the most. Maybe he’s seeing too much human in the bird, but someone should appreciate all this bird does for this family that keeps him on the fringes. It reminds him a little of Marnie, who took him in twice and never asked a thing in return. 

Perhaps the kindness is in how they let this large wanderer leave for months at a time and still welcome him back without question. It reminds him of the valley, who never mentions how he left and came back, but folded him back into the rhythm of village life like he never went away. For all the small-town gossip nobody’s ever asked him where Jas came from, where her parents are. Shane doesn’t care if everyone knows, really, if Marnie’s told the entire exercise club and the church. As long as he doesn’t have to try to speak it, to force it past frozen tongue and clenched teeth.

Sam knows about Shane making friends with the birds, so when one flies into the store during a freezing storm, he runs to Shane before Morris. Specifically, he tells Shane to catch it before Morris chases it out with a shotgun, which Shane is pretty sure is just a joke in poor taste. There aren’t any weapons in the store as far as Shane knows. But he doesn’t trust Morris anyways, and Sam’s too afraid of hurting the bird to do it himself, so it’s up to Shane.

He finds it by the offices, the warmest part of the store, jumping up and down on the drinking fountain but too light to set it off. Shane is not surprised at all to recognize his wanderer and he holds down the button so the bird can gulp water down greedily. What other bird would know what a drinking fountain even is, much less how to trigger it?

“You can’t stay in here,” Shane murmurs to the bird. The bird looks up at him, and if any bird looked tired and defeated it was this one. “Morris won’t like it. What happened to your family?”

The crow hunches his shoulders and Shane thinks about the nest. It’s the hollow of a tree, protected from the worst of the wind but not large, and there were five babies last year plus the parents and some of the older kids come back to help, a few uncles and aunts. And this bird is kind of large, they might have to displace two or even three to fit him.

Yeah, Shane can see why this particular bird took his chances inside. There’s only an hour of Shane’s shift left anyways. “All right,” he says. “Don’t let Morris see you.” The bird hops on Shane’s arm like he understands, allows himself to be tucked inside Shane’s hoodie. He stays very quiet and very still, nestled in Shane’s elbow and thank Yoba he’s carried plenty of chickens this way because those feathers tickle. He’s very cold at first, too, but he warms up quickly, and when Shane sneaks his hand in to stroke the bird’s head, he gets a sleepy pleased rasp in return.

Shane skips the bar that night, takes the bird straight back to Marnie’s place. The cold and the rain don’t bother him, they never do, but he takes extra care tonight to keep the bird warm and dry. Shane makes up a nest for the bird and scrambles him an egg for dinner with the shell mixed in. He knows what crows like, the same way he knows what gulls and owls and the little brown jobbies eat. Dead dreams.

The crow eats with one eye on him, watches him leave to feed the chickens and the cows, hops to the counter when he comes back in to make dinner for Jas and wash the dishes and throw a load of laundry in for Marnie who won’t be home tonight. Jas stares at the bird with wide bright eyes, and he nudges her hand until she gets the picture and pets him.

Shane wonders if the bird was someone’s pet or what, he’s so well-behaved. It’s far from the first time he’s brought a bird inside, and the crow behaves more like a chicken or a parrot than anything, clean and polite, cocking his head to follow Shane around the kitchen but not complaining when Jas’ bedroom door is shut. Determinedly following Shane into his own bedroom, steady red eyes daring Shane to object. He’s the only crow with red eyes Shane’s ever met. The bird refuses the nest still, settles on Shane’s chest in the glow of the tv, and allows himself to be rocked to sleep by the rhythm of Shane’s breathing. 

His new friend is still there in the morning, still asleep, and Shane spends a few minutes debating the best way to move him before one sleepy red eye opens. Shane couldn’t explain how it’s definitely lightish red, not pink, but it is. He opens the door to the new-washed world and the crow looks back at him for a moment, before flying off. When Shane arrives at Jojamart, there’s no sign of him. He asks the crow on the picnic table, but that one just tilts her head without any comprehension in her black eyes.

The big one isn’t around any more often after that, exactly. But he starts leaving presents for Shane on the picnic table nobody else ever sits at. A hair clip with a broken spring and heart the color of Jas’ eyes. A sticker with a gridball on it, the adhesive no longer good, weighed down by one of the acorn caps Shane left for them to play with. Topaz from the mountain, yellow as a drop of sun, small enough to be carried in a black beak, and a piece of sea glass blue as the sky.

There is one more thing, something Shane doesn’t really believe happened.

It was a bad day, once a special day but now just another reminder of what he’s lost. Gus knew, because Marnie tipped him off, because Shane himself was dragging his feet more than usual, because he has a chart of all his regular’s griefs for all Shane knows. Gus didn’t let Emily within five feet of him, something Shane would be thankful for if he was capable of any emotion. Gus didn’t let  _ anyone _ too close and kept the beer coming and didn’t ask questions. Later Shane won’t remember how he got out, if Gus cut him off or went to bed or if Shane just wandered out of his own volition. Shane’s drunk down to his toes, and his feet decide to take him to Jojamart and he’s on the bridge when his best bird buddy swoops behind him and turns into a man.

Obviously that’s not what happened because crows do not turn into people, and Shane is merely too drunk to question why suddenly there’s a man tall and dark-haired and handsome standing next to him, peering at him with concern in his lightish red eyes. Shane will not remember what he said in the morning, just how close the man’s voice is to a crow crooning to a chick. Just shoulders almost too high to reach, and an arm around his waist, and a hand in his hair like he might comfort a chicken. Just standing outside Marnie’s door at moonrise and the stranger saying, “You’re gonna be okay,” and it’s not a question really. 

In the morning his bird friend is on a fencepost, and that has nothing to do with his strange dream. Nothing at all. Maybe this one, almost as smart as a human, is the only one who knows he does not actually live at the Stardrop (though the others can be forgiven for believing it.) And why he chose this particular morning, well, that makes perfect sense. Shane’s just too hungover to figure it out.

* * *

Qrow gets along with other birds much better than he does with people, he really does. It’s too hot down in Vacuo for crows, and all the ones on Mistral belong to Raven. But Mantle and Sanus and Patch, each holds a little crow family that welcomes him when he’s around, keeps him up on the local gossip, gives him a safe place to sleep. Up in Atlas, it’s a group of bachelors, and even when Qrow isn’t there Jimmy makes sure they have unfrozen water and food in the snowy winter. Around Beacon, the students swear they report to Glynda and she keeps their nests safe from the collateral damage.

On Patch, it’s a family behind the Jojamart, south of Signal and Tai’s house. Something happened, before Qrow met them, and he’s not sure what exactly but there isn’t a crow on the island older than Yang. They’re not really city crows either, and Qrow finds himself teaching them about humans, about cigarette butts in the nest to kill parasites, about using bus wheels to crack nuts and breadcrumbs to catch fish. 

Tai never goes to Jojamart; what’s thirty minutes as the crow flies is a hell of a detour around mountains as the wolf runs. Tai’s not going to make the trip when he hates Qrow’s wacky bird stories, or rather what they mean, for Qrow only tells them when his need to explain where he was for a month and a half conflicts with Tai’s need to not hear about Qrow’s quasi-suicide missions. Qrow doesn’t worry about them too much though. 

He doesn’t really worry about any of his crows. There’s none in Vacuo where it’s too hot, and Raven’s never let anything happen to her family. Jimmy’s not actually as heartless as Qrow accuses him of and he’s also real committed to the whole Protector of the Universe complex. Glynda promised Qrow and she doesn’t break her promises. And on Patch, there’s Shane.

* * *

The monsters get thicker in the mountains, and Marlon brings in one of his friends to help when they get bold. Marlon’s got a horrible  _ thing _ for Marnie and Shane hates him on general principle because Marnie deserves better than a coward. Marnie deserves better than Pelican Town, honestly, but Shane doesn’t know how to make her believe it.

Marlon’s friend at least doesn’t talk too much, just sits at the bar and drinks the hard stuff nobody else does and pays his tab every night. He’ll be there every night for a week then disappear for three, and for the most part everyone else leaves him be. The villagers are a friendly lot, but they also know when someone doesn’t want to talk. It’s really the best part of the town, in Shane’s opinion. You can always find a friendly ear if you want, and they don’t take it personally if you don’t.

Probably because everyone has two or three secrets at any given time they don’t want to talk about, even the kids. Except Marnie, who’s never done anything wrong in her life, or if she has it’s so well hidden not even Shane knows about it, and maybe Elliott who’s kind of a ditz and probably can’t carry more than one in his pretty little head.

Marlon’s friend’s been hanging out for weeks before he says a single word to Shane. It’s a rainy night and the saloon is as full as it gets. There’s not much else to do, after all, and even though nobody’s really a farmer around here since the old man died, rain still signals everyone to take the day off and gather inside. Harvey’s in the stranger’s usual place, and Marlon’s friend hesitates two chairs down from Shane’s corner. “Mind if I sit here?” he asks, voice rough in a way that reminds Shane of a crow’s questioning call.

Shane shrugs. It’s not like the stranger is sitting on his lap, after all. The thought occurs to him that he wouldn’t mind if he did, and Shane squashes it down firmly. It would be a lie to say he doesn’t find Marlon’s friend easy on the eyes. The stranger looks like a dream Shane once had, of someone tall and dark and handsome who walked him home, who might have cared. But this is reality, and he goes back to his beer. The best he can hope for is to drink enough that he won’t dream tonight.

And if Marlon’s friend keeps sitting so close to him, fine, whatever, Shane doesn’t care. Shane has other problems. Bigger problems, like Morris cutting his hours and Jas growing out of her shoes and the sad look in Marnie’s eyes when they accidentally meet his across the room.

“I hate wasting food,” Marlon’s friend announces a few days later, maybe months. It all blurs together in Shane’s mind. He’s got half a plate of pepper poppers in front of him. “You want these?”

Shane shrugs, says “Sure,” because hey, free food, and Gus makes the best pepper poppers he’s ever had. “Thanks,” he adds, but he can’t quite ask the man’s name. Can’t quite admit he doesn’t know the man’s name. He thinks he might have been told. Does it matter?

It happens three, four more times, Shane’s not counting. Maybe the fifth time, Emily grins and says, “Shall I just give them straight to Shane, Crow?”

The man’s ears turn pink, Shane swears, before something filters through the beer. “Your name is Crow?” he repeats. “That’s not a real name.”

“It’s my name,” Crow mutters.

“It’s a bird,” Shane says to the man that buys him food, because Shane is an asshole who can’t stop himself.

Gus snaps his fingers behind the cash register. “I almost forgot,” he says. “Shane, I saved you some peanuts for your friends. Don’t leave without them.” He disappears in the back room while Shane continues to point out that Crow is not actually a name and Crow continues to insist it’s his real actual name. Only when Crow produces his hunting license does Shane accept that if it’s spelt with a Q it’s a name.

Why he can’t stop himself, why he must double down, not even Shane understands, but he’s grateful to that Q for giving him an out. Doubly so for Gus and a kilo of peanuts that showed up unsalted even though the bag says salted. “No point in sending it back,” Gus says as he slides it across the bar. “At least your friends will appreciate it.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Shane says. Gus is pretty great, all things considered, and Shane should probably be nicer to him. But Shane’s pretty sure he’s constitutionally incapable of that, and this is the best he can do.

“Who are your friends?” Qrow-with-a-Q asks.

Shane gives him a grin he doesn’t really feel but he’s trying to appreciate the irony. “The crows behind Jojamart.” He looks Qrow up and down. Qrow does kind of look like a crow, all dark points and willing to entertain assholes. That’s a  _ very _ important quality in a crow. Shiny rings, three of them, and he does keep sharing his food even if he’s quieter than any other crow Shane’s known. “Do you want to meet them?”

And that’s how Shane ends up leading Qrow across the bridge in the starlight, the breeze bringing the promise of winter through their hair. “You gonna be okay?” Qrow asks, and the question is a dreamlike memory under the half-moon.

“Cold doesn’t bother me,” Shane says, acutely aware that he’s wearing shorts like some kind of tough-guy teenager. He’s not sure he even owns long pants any more. He never manages to care long enough to buy some. He already doesn’t care. All he can manage right now is getting the peanuts across the bridge and up the path and around Jojamart. A kilo of peanuts will last a long time, if he finds the right place to tuck the bag. Next to the back door, for tonight, and he’ll stash them somewhere in the back room tomorrow.

“Don’t get too close,” he says, grabbing Qrow’s arm before he can get within ten feet of the tree. That seems to be the magic distance, and it would be terrible if the crows hated Qrow at the first meeting. “They’re shy with new people.”

Qrow nods, doesn’t say anything about Shane’s hand or how Shane doesn’t remove it. “There?” he asks, pointing dead at the nesting tree, and his pale red eyes must be the sharpest Shane’s ever met to spot the dark crows in the dark nest so easily.

Shane nods. “Most of the family’s still there tonight. Couple of the older kids went over to the big roost already, looking for mates. I have a feeling they’ll bring their mates back here in the spring.” It’s the most words he’s ever said to Qrow at one time. It’s more than he’s said to Qrow every other time put together. But this is birds, possibly the only subject Shane can discuss like a reasonable human being who doesn’t spend all day facing product and filling out planograms. “Or alone, one of the boys has terrible luck.”

“Maybe he’s looking for another boy who likes boys. That can be hard to find,” Qrow says. Shane can hear the experience in his voice, and he can hear the careful question too. So he slides his hand down to take Qrow’s, slides his short, thick fingers through Qrow’s slim cool ones, curls his fingertips over Qrow’s knuckles. He couldn’t see the scars earlier but he can feel them now, and he is careful around them. Shane’s been hurt so many times he can’t stand the thought of making someone else feel the same.

“He’ll find one,” Shane says with a hell of a lot more confidence than he feels. “He’s a good kid, hatched before I worked here. Every year he comes back from the roost last, and when his momma sees him she’s so happy she dances.”

Qrow cups Shane’s hand gentle as an egg, like he doesn’t sling around heavy-ass boxes of human food all day and heavier bags of animal feed at night. “Do they have names?” 

Shane shrugs. “Yeah. I couldn’t pronounce them if my life depended on it.” Shane looks up at Qrow’s profile, sees the scruff on his jaw and the sadness in his eyes and thinks that maybe he would like to kiss Qrow. That maybe Qrow would like to be kissed, impossible as that seems, that he might be afraid to ask.

“You didn’t give them names?” Qrow’s thumb moves across Shane’s skin gingerly, like he’s afraid to hurt him, like he’s afraid to scare him off. Like he’s afraid Shane might not be real.

“Seems rude, when they already have their own,” is all Shane says. He wants to pull Qrow down to him but Qrow’s so tense his bones are humming against Shane’s palm. 

Perhaps he’s entirely wrong. He can’t think of any other explanation, for the pepper poppers and following him out here even after Shane insulted his name, for Qrow not letting go of his hand. Shane just waits, patient as he’s ever been befriending a bird, open and clear. Qrow tilts almost imperceptibly towards Shane, his foot sliding against Shane’s sneaker, their shoulders brushing. Shane waits.

“There’s another one,” Shane says to fill the silence. “He’s not family, as far as I can tell, more like dad’s best friend they call uncle. He travels more than the others, disappears for a while but always brings them back food, toys. He hangs around the longest when the babies are just starting to fly and he’ll fight anything that tries to hurt them. I don’t know where he goes when he leaves, and I don’t think they do either. But we’re always happy to see him when he comes back.”

Shane looks up at Qrow’s eyes, and he realizes they are the same color as his bird friend’s. “I don’t know if they miss him like I do when he’s gone,” he continues. “I almost hope not. That would be a lot of worry for some very small birds.”

Qrow closes his eyes and doesn’t say anything, but his grip on Shane’s hand tightens, and Shane sees his adam’s apple bob as he swallows and he wonders what the skin at the hollow of Qrow’s throat tastes like. He’s got enough alcohol in him to be brave, too much to doubt himself.

Shane waits until Qrow’s eyes open again, slowly brings his free hand up to cup Qrow’s cheek, brush his thumb against the high sharp arch of a cheekbone. He waits ten heartbeats, ten jackrabbit kicks hammering against his ribcage, and when Qrow doesn’t pull away Shane guides him down, down until their lips meet.

Qrow tastes like ice-cold beer and morning frost and something Shane can’t quite identify, something Qrow brought with him into the valley on winds that smell like winter snow. His skin is cold under Shane’s hands and he kisses Shane like his lips are the only warmth Qrow has ever known and it is heady stuff to be clung to so desperately.

The picnic table isn’t even ten steps away but there’s at least one small sentinel watching and anyways Shane’s too old for that. He buries his free hand in Qrow’s hair, black as his namesake’s feathers and soft as chick’s down, pulls away just enough to speak. Qrow chases him, nipping at his lips desperate, desperate. “Come home with me tonight,” Shane says against Qrow’s chapped lips, Qrow’s fingers laced in his and Qrow’s hand on his waist sending giddy sparks zipping under still-covered skin. “I want you in a real bed. In my bed.”

“Okay,” Qrow groans into his mouth, “okay, okay,” but he makes no move except to press himself closer against Shane, until there is no room for starlight between them and every breath Shane takes is air from Qrow’s lungs.

Shane pulls him along, following his instincts and coaxing him softly. “Come on, I want to do this properly, it’s not far. You deserve better than an ass full of pine needles.” Shane traces the shell of Qrow’s ear with his thumb, and the movement or the words make Qrow shudder and stop dead, and the noise in his throat is high and needy and sweeter than wine.

Then Qrow nods and stops kissing Shane but doesn’t let go of Shane’s hand. Grips him tighter, even, as they thread their way around the houses, avoiding the rest of the townsfolk. Shane knows these people and cockblocking is practically their official sport, but not tonight, tonight wouldn’t survive it. Qrow does tug him against the signpost at the edge of the village proper, pushes his knee between Shane’s legs as his fingers find the hem of Shane’s shirt and the skin underneath, presses his mouth against Shane like he’s drowning in moonlight and desperation.

Shane rocks against Qrow’s knee and combs his fingers through Qrow’s hair and whispers against Qrow’s hot mouth, “It’s okay, we’re almost there, once we’re inside we can do whatever you want, it’s okay.” He runs his thumb against the back of Qrow’s neck, and Qrow allows himself to be gentled even as his breath comes faster and faster, even as a lovely salmonberry stain spreads across his cheeks. Shane doesn’t push him away even if that means tripping over Qrow’s feet, doesn’t ask Qrow how long it’s been since someone took him to bed. A  _ proper _ bed, not the knee-trembler he seems bound and determined to have.

Must be a long time if he’s so eager to settle for Shane.

Shane takes Qrow by the hand and leads him around to the back door, less explaining that way. The lock is stickier than usual and Qrow drapes himself over Shane’s back, buries his face in Shane’s hair. “Almost there,” Shane coos even as Qrow busies himself with Shane’s rapidly-tightening shorts. “Bed is literally five feet away.” The room is dark and that doesn’t bother Qrow, which suits Shane just fine. Nobody needs to see the mess of his room.

He manages to get Qrow sitting on the bed, and okay, he’s got his way. No pine needles and he can apply himself to the important things, like kissing each scar on Qrow’s hand. There’s a lot of them that are thin silver lines and Shane tastes those the most carefully. He knows what they are. Mirror punching leaves very distinctive scars.

Qrow doesn’t try to stop him, exactly, but he does pull Shane’s mouth back to his own, needy and earnest and yearning for something Shane cannot name. He goes slack in Qrow’s grip, because he promised, and he lets Qrow haul him into the taller man’s lap, lets himself be laid out in the square moonlight with Qrow between his legs. Lets Qrow gather his wrists up and pin them above his head and gives Qrow nothing more than a crooked grin. 

“Tell me what you want,” Shane says to the whites of Qrow’s wild eyes, and he can feel his lips kiss-swollen, hear his own voice deepened by desire, and Qrow curses under his breath.

“You don’t even know you do it,” Qrow half-snarls, “fucking freezing hell, you have no idea.” Shane does not, indeed, have any idea what Qrow is talking about, but Qrow’s let go of his wrists to wrestle his shorts off and the least Shane can do is help kick them off.

Then Qrow’s hand is on Shane’s cock and he is  _ so damn okay with that _ .

He’s barely got time to reach for Qrow, try to reciprocate in some way, before Qrow’s got his mouth there, oh god, he’s swallowing him to the hilt, world champion cocksucker here in his lap and Shane curls himself over Qrow’s head like he’s been shot, hands fisted in Qrow’s red cape trying to remember how to words.

Qrow is really, really great at this, all Shane can comprehend is  _ heat _ and  _ tight _ and  _ pleasure _ , and maybe it’s embarrassingly quick, maybe it’s a million years before he’s patting a frantic warning and Qrow pulls back just enough to  _ wink  _ up at him and that’s it, Shane’s lost, he’s coming, going, spilling down Qrow’s throat and Qrow swallows every drop.

Shane remembers to let go, flops back and looks up at Qrow’s smug smile. Qrow produces a flask from inside his shirt, offers it to Shane before taking a swig. Shane watches the long lean line of Qrow’s throat as he swallows, props himself up on his elbows and tries to remember how to human again, think again, something more than desperate animal lust.

“C’mere,” he says, reaching out for Qrow. Qrow allows himself to be tugged down next to Shane, allows Shane to finally taste the hollow at the base of his throat. Shane unbuttons Qrow’s shirt, doesn’t get much of a reaction, skims over Qrow’s chest and belly as fast as he can without seeming grossed-out because he’s only ninety percent sure Qrow wants him to skip right to his slacks. Qrow’s kissing him again, one hand almost desperate in his hair so Shane licks his palm and wraps his hand around Qrow’s cock, heavy and hot in his hands, first uncut one he’s touched in a very long time, and he can’t remember if there was something special about that so he keeps his grip this side of teasing. “I gotcha,” Shane says to the corner of Qrow’s jaw, where the stubble starts.

It’s stupid, because Qrow could probably chuck him halfway across the river like a gridball, Shane might actually be smaller than Qrow’s sword half-forgotten on the floor. Still he pins Qrow’s leg under his less-shitty knee, wraps his free hand around Qrow’s and presses Qrow’s knuckles to his mouth. “I got you,” he says again, because he wishes someone had said this to him. Tells Qrow all the things he wishes someone had told him. “You’re not going anywhere,” he says, and “You’re beautiful,” and he doesn’t even know what else. He wonders if Qrow is even listening. Qrow’s hand is almost tight enough to hurt in his hair, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Just works Qrow through it carefully, wipes up the sticky mess with some kleenex and slips off to wash his hand.

He half-expects Qrow to be gone when he comes back, and Qrow’s standing in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets. Neither of them say anything as Shane hangs his hoodie on the doorknob. “Do you want to sleep on the inside or outside?” Shane asks, because he’s still a child and his bed is shoved against the wall.

Shane wakes up to sun, and Qrow using him as a pillow, and Marnie banging on his door because his alarm didn’t go off and oh no he’s got  _ eight  _ minutes before he has to clock in. He pecks a kiss on Qrow’s forehead and spends two precious minutes letting Qrow rub his face against Shane’s chest, watching Qrow’s lightish-red eyes open. “Marnie won’t care,” Shane says. “But I have to go, I have work.”

Qrow dry-swallows, and sighs, not awake enough for words. Shane can respect that, as long as Qrow lets him out. “Lock the door behind you,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else, he doesn’t have time for anything else, he doesn’t even have time to tie his shoes, he has to run.

* * *

Qrow creeps out the back door like a thief. He doesn’t avoid Marnie, exactly, but he doesn’t need to make the morning more complicated for her. Pelican Town… he spent a lot of time in Pelican Town once, and he hasn’t forgotten how she used to sit at the bar and wait for Marlon to give her the all-clear, how she managed to look exhausted after that much coffee. It’s been so long since he sat next to Gus’ jukebox and watched the town decide if they liked Leah or not. Four years, two months, ten days. He’d come here after the funeral and Gus had asked what happened from the look on his face and Qrow had fled like a bat out of hell.

Shane lived in the city then, Qrow knows. Marnie rarely spoke of him, but always with pride when the topic came up. Qrow wonders what brought him back. Shane’s room looks like how Qrow’s would if he ever stayed in one place longer than a week. There’s a respectable pyramid of beer cans and a few crayon drawings taped to the wall, a chair covered in clothes and a video game system surrounded by a tangle of cords. Shades that haven’t been raised, possibly ever. Yeah, Qrow can read the room perfectly fine. Shane didn’t come back for the fresh mountain air.

Qrow almost doesn’t leave, almost finds an excuse to hang around until Shane’s shift is over. It’s fear that sends him winging back to Beacon, and he tells himself it’s fear of Glynda coming to find him. Tells himself last night was a mistake, that it was out of his system and he was done with it.

Except Shane had taken his hand and showed him the crows Qrow knew so well already, insisted on taking him to bed.  _ You deserve better than pine needles, _ Shane had said to him, and Qrow had almost believed him. Ancient gods of wind and water, but Qrow had believed him in the moment.

Shane’s hands were strong and sure, gentle on Qrow’s skin as bird feathers, and oh, he’d thought he could imagine it but he’d been wrong, he’d never dreamed how steady Shane had held him, how sweet his mouth was. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. It was supposed to be fumbling and quick and a little sour, like warm flat beer and gritty peanuts. Shane wasn’t supposed to press himself against Qrow’s body and say  _ whatever you want _ , Shane wasn’t supposed to find every last scar on Qrow’s hand and he wasn’t supposed to run his hand down Qrow’s chest like he was some sort of whole person. What was Qrow supposed to do in the face of that?

Flee, like a coward or maybe someone gainfully employed, tuck the memory against his skin next to his flask, and curse the promises he made to Ozpin. Catch a tailwind and land on the balcony with Shane’s words still in his ear.  _ Seems rude, when they already have their own. _ The memory of Shane’s hands on his back solid, soothing.  _ Tell me what you want. _

Glynda  _ knew, _ Qrow could tell from the look on her face when she found him draped across Ozpin’s chair (which looked like a goddamn  _ penis, _ seriously, and Qrow still couldn’t tell if it was Ozpin’s weird sense of humor or if Ozpin really honestly didn’t see it.) Glynda didn’t say anything about it, but she snapped her crop down next to him instead of on his legs, and Qrow appreciated her not leaving marks even as he bitched at her for waking him up.

“You weren’t sleeping,” Glynda pointed out, dry as Vacuo’s desert. Qrow hoped he wasn’t being sent there. 

“Not for lack of trying,” Qrow grumbled, snagging one of the mugs she’d brought. Never tea any more in Ozpin’s office, unspoken the reason. Nobody made tea like Raven.

“You weren’t sleeping,” Glynda repeated, and that was how she knew, and Qrow realized she knew, and he smirked at her and waited for her to say something, ask for a name, question who would be desperate enough. Or worse, be happy for him. Be honest.

But Ozpin came in, and ordered Qrow out of his chair with a tired sigh, and the moment passed. Then it was all business, a message to take down to Vacuo too sensitive for anything but hand-delivery. A list of young women to check on, and who else could Oz trust to not be creepy about that? A rumor of Ghira Belladonna having a daughter for Qrow to confirm or deny, like that was somehow less creepy than calling him up and asking him. Nothing to do with actual Grimm, with any of the things hunters were supposed to do. Well, Qrow was Ozpin’s man first, second, and third, he’d take it as a compliment.

Before he left, questions about his nieces, about Yang and Ruby. About Tai, somewhere between polite small talk and true concern, purely in their capacity as what was left of Qrow’s family, just as Tai wanted. (Tai wanted nothing to do with Ozpin, but the day Oz stopped caring about Summer’s children, about his former student, would be the day Jimmy showed up on national tv in a miniskirt, so this was their compromise.)

Never any mention of Raven, though Qrow knew she hung in the corner of Ozpin’s vision, every flash of red on black.

Before he left the city entirely, Qrow checked in with the crows who nested high and listened to their stories of student fires and floods and promised that yes, the nest-repairer would like the green glass beads they’d collected from a broken bracelet. Glynda was always delighted when the crows brought her presents, but Qrow didn’t have time for more than the briefest conversation, winged out of the city before sunset.

Then down to Vacuo, going the long way to check off half the girls on Ozpin’s list. Whole week, almost, stopping in towns when he could to grab a drink and a sandwich, or just a drink. Hitch a ride on a ship, one with working showers and a full-stocked bar. No tea, no cocoa, just burned coffee and not enough sugar before riding inland on a thermal. Hand over the message in Shade and gone before the moon could rise on him. Nothing worth stopping for between the academy and Menagerie, yes, the Belladonnas have a daughter with black hair and gold eyes and quicker hands than he expected. Yang’s age, or thereabout, cat ears. No drinking there, too human to pass without notice. No clue why Ozpin cared. Back across Sanus, weeklong tour of the best bars (meaning the cheapest ones), at least they have decent whiskey down here. Too hungover to deal with immortal bullshit, skip Beacon entirely and text Ozpin instead, sleep the rest of it off. Up back to Patch with an empty flask, and the closest bar to Tai’s house as the crow flies is, really, the Stardrop Saloon.

There’s no reason to avoid it. No reason at all, he made no promises. No reason, and the tiny hope, slim as a silver sword at sunset, and his flask is empty and he darts in before he can talk himself out of it, selfish man he’s always been.

Leah spots him first, smiles and waves. Emily follows the motion and says, “I’ll get the pepper poppers in!” Qrow barely hears her, he’s only got eyes for the jukebox, for it’s half-shadowed corner. Empty, nobody there, and he stares at it for a full five minutes before Emily is pushing a styrofoam box at him. “Cindersap Forest,” she says. “Start at the fishing pond.”

He picks up the box, manages to thank her, and is gone before she can reply. Before anyone can tell him what happened the last two weeks.

Shane is at the end of the dock, right where Emily said. “Hey,” Qrow says softly. There’s a six pack next to Shane.

“Come sit down,” Shane says, without turning around. He sounds very tired. “Marlon said something big came up, and if you did it right we’d never hear about it.”

Oh, what did Qrow ever do to deserve Marlon Argent? “Yeah,” Qrow says, sitting next to Shane, letting his feet dangle over the edge. “Yeah, I should have left a note. I’m sorry.”

Shane shrugs. “Stuff happens.” Shrugs again. “I knew you’d come back.” 

Qrow wants to ask how Shane knew, but he’s too afraid of the answer. “I brought pepper poppers,” he says. He hates them, hates chili peppers on general principle. Shane loves them. Shane won’t eat any unless Qrow eats one first. Well, he’s had worse things in his mouth.

“Here,” Shane tosses him a beer. “Have a cold one.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Shane eats most of the pepper-poppers. Qrow sips his beer. He’s never been a fan of it, really. He’d rather have sharp whiskey or sweet wine, but he never turns down a free drink.

“Buh,” Shane says eventually, leaning back on his elbows. “Life.” 

“Been treating you alright?” Qrow asks. 

Shane shakes his head. “You ever feel like no matter what you do, you’re going to fail?” He looks over at Qrow, at the ever-present sword low on Qrow’s back. “Like you’re stuck in some miserable abyss and you’re so deep you can’t see the light of day?”

“I just feel like no matter how hard I try… I’m not strong enough to climb out of that hole,” Shane continues. 

Qrow finishes his beer, puts the empty bottle back in its slot. Lays back on the dock and looks up at the stars. He knows how to find his way by them, Oz insisted he and Raven learn. They cannot show him where to go from here. Qrow thinks of all the times Taiyang’s said things like that. Of all the things he’s said in return and how Tai never believed him.

Because Qrow’s never felt like that. He’s always had someone around to throw him a rope, always had enough light to find a way out. And he had to be strong, strong enough to carry Raven, to carry Summer and Tai, Yang and Ruby. Qrow’s not  _ allowed  _ to fail, there’s too much riding on his shoulders.

He doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t  _ need _ to understand it. He just needs to not, somehow, make it worse. Better to keep his mouth shut. Put his hand over Shane’s and hope Shane understands.

“I should go back,” Shane says after a million years. “Jas worries, if she wakes up in the middle of the night and I’m not there.” But he makes no move to stand up.

“Jas your daughter?”

“More or less.” Shane sighs. Qrow waits. “Her parents died in a car accident; I was all she had left, so I brought her home.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Qrow squeezes Shane’s hand. Seems right. “My nieces live on the other side of the mountains, near Signal. They… don’t have mothers.”

Shane does not ask for details, for which Qrow is very grateful. Team STRQ’s fusion is hard enough for other hunters to understand, its fission impossible to explain. “So you get it,” is all Shane says. He pulls himself to his feet, and Qrow follows suit. Shane is so much smaller than him, with the thick muscles that only come from hard work. If Qrow were a stupid man, he’d wonder how Shane could call himself weak.

“You going back to them tonight?” Shane asks, and he’s not looking at Qrow.

Ruby and Yang forgive him, he says, “Tai’s with them.” And when Shane nods like that means something, Qrow adds, “They’re not expecting me home yet.”

It’s worth it, for the light dawning in Shane’s eyes. “You didn’t go home?” There’s something in his voice, something like hope or guilt. Something that draws Qrow closer to him.

“Came straight back,” he says, reaching out to Shane, meeting him halfway. A little more than half, after what Shane just said. “To you.” Shane inhales, sharply, like the words are a physical blow and Qrow’s afraid it’s too much, too fast. Afraid that backpedalling now would be a mistake. So all he can think to do is twine their hands together, confess, “I thought of you every night.”

Shane’s eyes close, his face tips up, and he says, “What do you want?”

Qrow meets him halfway again, presses his forehead against Shane’s. “Anything I want?” Shane nods under him and Qrow wonders what’s going through his head. Prays nothing breaks. Anything he wants, and that’s heady fucking stuff. “Your bed,” he says. “Let me do the first morning over again.”

Shane drops the bottles, neither of them care, his arms around Qrow’s neck and Qrow’s hands on Shane’s hips, he can feel Shane trembling under his fingertips and Qrow breathes  _ please,  _ promises he’ll do it right this time, please let him start over.

And Shane does.

* * *

Shane wasn’t lying when he said he understood hunters. Patch has more Grimm than most settled islands, and the rumor is they’re attracted by something in the mountains. When Shane was a child visiting on school breaks, Marnie would take him to the museum and show him the artifacts dug up around the town, bronze weapons and tablets inscribed with a language nobody can read any more, a set of ancient dolls nobody knows the purpose of anymore painted in black and white and red and yellow. There’s a cabin near the mountains where a hunter or two has lived as long as anyone can remember, and plenty of times Marnie has had to stay at Gus’ while a pack of Grimm is cleaned out of the forest.

Plenty of times a hunter has laid in the room that’s Jas’ now until the town doctor can come.

Marlon’s been here for five, six years, and as far as Shane can gather he’s good at what he does. Jas has never been carried into town half-asleep on Shane’s back; the closest they’ve come is Marlon knocking on the door to tell them to stay inside until dawn. Even that’s only happened a handful of times.

Shane’s never worried about attracting them. Everyone knows alcohol hides you from the Grimm, at the expense of being drunk and stupid. The beer’s downright necessary, keeps Jas and Marnie safe, or at least that’s what he tells himself when Jas asks if he’s okay and he’s really, really not. When Harvey looks at him and reminds him that there’s  _ other _ ways, counseling, medication,  _ counseling, Shane you take Jas twice a month, you’re there anyways _ , when Gil frowns at him like there’s something he’s trying to say.

Shane understands hunters, and how they leave quickly, and how they sometimes never come back. Marlon knocks on the door one night, only the fourth night Qrow’s in Shane’s bed, asks if he can borrow Qrow. He doesn’t say how he knows Qrow’s there, and Marnie isn’t surprised to hear there’s an extra person in the house. Marlon promises to bring Qrow back in one piece, and the door shuts on Qrow laughing about how the old man’s back is the one that needs watching.

Marnie’s making coffee when Shane turns back around, and she smiles at him but her eyes are sad. Her eyes are always sad when she looks at him. “You and Qrow.”

“Yeah,” he says to his feet, because there’s not really a way to deny it. It’s not  _ fair _ , how hard it is to say things to Marnie, to the woman who’s never turned him away. It should be easy, she makes it easy, Shane just can’t manage it.

“Well, I hope he knows he doesn’t have to sneak around,” she says brightly and all Shane can do is shrug. “I don’t want… Shane, look at me,” she says, and Shane can manage that, at least, because Marnie’s never hurt him, and he can push himself farther for her sake than his own. “You’re a grown man, and maybe it’s none of my business. But you don’t have to  _ hide  _ these things from me.”

His throat is strangled-tight for no goddamn reason but he manages to choke out, “I know.” Of course he knows. Marnie’s the one who took him in when his parents kicked him out, Marnie’s the one who told him again and again there’s nothing wrong with him, who told him he could love boys or girls or both, who told him he could love as many people as he wanted. Now she sits at the table and pushes a cup of coffee at him. How is she possible in his family of cruel, worthless people?

“I know some things are private,” she says, gentle as she gets with a scared animal. “Just don’t forget I’m here for you.”

Like he could, when he lives in her house and feeds her chickens and she makes him coffee and takes care of his goddaughter. He can’t even speak, just nods, and hopes one day to be able to pay her back.

They sit in silence for twenty or so minutes, maybe an hour, three cups of coffee between them. Marnie doesn’t say anything more, but she doesn’t leave him, not until the hunters return with a knock on the door. Qrow comes in first, still laughing, and when he sees Shane he sweeps him up, claims his mouth, and Shane could get used to this, the way Qrow always bends down and doesn’t try shoving him up against the wall. Qrow smells like the wild secret forest and tastes like victory and there is no blood sticky on his shirt.

“That was quick,” Shane breathes, when Qrow allows him some oxygen.

Qrow laughs, his eyes shining. “It slipped and fell into the river,” he says. “We barely looked at it.” Behind them, Marlon’s confirming the story, Marnie’s saying something Shane can’t quite understand, distracted as he is by Qrow’s hands running down his arms. “Drowned under the bridge, Ursa can’t swim.”

“Uh.” Shane looks over to Marnie. Qrow’s hands are  _ roaming _ , and Shane doesn’t really want him to stop, but they’re not alone. He grabs Qrow’s hands and stammers something about opening tomorrow, and Marnie sends them off to bed like it’s not  _ extremely  _ obvious Qrow’s going to fuck him the second the door’s closed.

He reminds himself of all the times Lewis has stayed after dinner with Marnie. Then decides he doesn’t want to think about that while Qrow tugs Shane’s shirt off, one hand buried in Shane’s hair and the other fumbling for the light. “Please, let me see,” Qrow says and he's not laughing anymore. “Just, let me  _ see.” _

Shane nods and laces his fingers through Qrow’s and together they slide the switch up. Qrow hasn’t  _ technically  _ seen him naked, not in the light, and the thought cools his ardor a bit. Not too much, not when Qrow’s mouthing at his neck and mumbling, “Thank you, thank you,” not when Qrow’s cradling him on the way down to the bed. He figures it’s got to do with the fight that didn’t happen, Qrow keyed up and needing release. 

But instead Qrow balances with his legs on either side of Shane’s hips, straddling without actually sitting on him, and runs his fingers over Shane’s chest, slow and careful. “You’re not hurt,” he says, like that was somehow a question. “You’re not hurt.”

Shane’s soft under Qrow’s hands, but it doesn’t feel… bad, to have Qrow touch him so gently, almost-tickling over his ribs and sliding lower to his waist, back up all the way to his collarbone. The frown on Qrow’s face Shane reaches up and smooths away. “It was over so quick,” Qrow says, turning his hand to kiss Shane’s palm. “It’s never over that quick. I thought…”

“We were fine,” Shane says, Qrow’s hands still mapping out every inch of skin. Qrow touches him like he’s precious, Shane finally figures out. Like somehow  _ Qrow  _ could hurt  _ him. _ Shane’s not sure how he feels about that. Instead he lays back and lets Qrow do what he wants. What he suspect Qrow needs, Qrow’s hand splayed over his heart. There’s not the usual wildness dilating Qrow’s eyes, but his hands are quick as sparrows, returning to the same places again and again, like he can’t quite believe Shane’s not bleeding out. “I’m fine.”

“Of course,” Qrow says now, his hands on Shane’s belt buckle. Shane nods permission -another great thing about Qrow: for how fast he moves, he always stops just short and waits for Shane to give him the go-ahead. Shane's never said no, never had a reason to. Now Qrow tugs Shane’s shorts down and Shane remembers too late that Qrow’s never seen his legs in the light before, not properly. Never even managed to get his hands over them, distracted as he gets by Shane’s cock.

Qrow looks up at him, kneeling between his legs, and his hands are hovering over the long red lines drawn over Shane’s thighs. Shane forgot how bad they look, not because he could  _ ever _ forget them, but because they look so much better now. “You can ask or you can touch,” Shane says. “Pick one.”

He hopes Qrow opts to touch, because he’s never spoken it out loud, the blood in  _ her _ hair from his legs,  _ his _ hand just out of reach no matter how far he stretched,  _ his  _ voice whispering, “Shane, Shane, tell me you’re okay, please, tell me you’re okay,”  _ her  _ breath bubbling wet and  _ her _ eyes closed and  _ her _ forehead pressed against his new third knee,  _ him _ still begging for Shane and oh, sometimes Shane wonders if he really survived or if  _ she  _ wept over his dead body and this is hell.

Qrow nods and slides his hands down to Shane’s knee, gentle as before, not following the lines of the scars, and Shane doesn't know how much that is a thing until it happens. Qrow goes over Shane’s legs, up and down and firm, and Shane doesn’t know what to do so he lays back and throws his arm over his eyes and tries to think about the man who is touching him now, not the  _ two _ who can never touch him again.

He’s been thinking about letting Qrow inside of him since Qrow came back for a second chance at a first night, since Qrow was still in his bed the next morning and kissed him properly and fed the crows behind Jojamart with Shane on his lunch break. Then Qrow was gone for a few days, coming back too late at night to do anything to curl around Shane and text something with his phone tilted away from Shane’s face. But then he spent all day up at Marlon’s, told Shane over pizza that he didn’t have to leave yet. 

Qrow had said he was only an hour away from his nieces, and Shane had said of course Qrow could stay, and when Qrow had  _ asked _ to taste Shane like that was some great gift, well. That was when Shane decided if Qrow wanted to be inside of him he wasn’t going to say no. He wasn’t going to volunteer, but all he had to offer Qrow was his body. 

Qrow seems to like it well enough, satisfies himself that Shane’s legs are not mangled (again), finds his hand and goes over it again and again and again. Shane’s hands are dry and clumsy when it’s late and Qrow doesn’t care, finds where his veins are corded under his skin, sucks on the point of bone at his wrist. Pauses at the scar a few inches away.

“Have you ever gotten a papercut from a cardboard box?” Shane asks. “Because it’s been really hard to explain since. Poor Sam, I don’t think he’s ever seen that much blood before, even though it wasn’t that bad.”

Qrow looks up, searching Shane’s face like he thinks Shane’s joking. Shane isn’t, it was his first week of working at Jojamart, and he doesn’t think Morris has ever forgiven him. Qrow smiles at him, slow and bright as the sun rising on his way to work, runs his tongue along the scar. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he says.

“We’re safe,” Shane repeats. He’s never been so safe; on his bed in Marnie’s house, which is possibly the safest place on the whole damn island, Qrow’s broad shoulders over him like shielding wings, Qrow’s hands still on his body and oh, Shane has learned to like that very much indeed. Even when Qrow sits back, reaches into his shirt for his flask, he keeps one hand against Shane’s skin like he can’t bear to lose that contact. His shoulders drop as he drinks, and Shane swears his hand grows heavier.

“I’m glad,” is all Qrow says, doesn’t offer an explanation for his sudden panic. Maybe it’s reasonable, maybe it’s not.

Shane props himself up on his elbows. “I can’t help but notice how unfair this is,” he says, giving Qrow raised eyebrows he doesn’t really feel. Shouldn’t he be the one stripping Qrow naked and examining every inch of him for injury? Probably, but Shane would really prefer not to, for fear of finding one.

“You’re right,” Qrow says, standing up. He hesitates minutely before unbuttoning his shirt, and Shane realizes abruptly this will be the first time he’ll see Qrow naked as well.

There’s nothing under the first few buttons of Qrow’s shirt that Shane hasn’t seen before, maybe his muscles stand out a little more than most people, a few scars scattered, but none as bad as Shane’s knees. Something he can’t see, he figures, wrapping his hand around his own cock, stroking lazily. Qrow’s fingers move even slower down the rest of the buttons, his eyes on Shane’s face, a little scattering of hair at the very bottom of his belly but nothing out of the ordinary. 

Shane makes a noise of appreciation as Qrow slides his pants off, stands before Shane naked and Shane feels like maybe Qrow’s more than merely unclothed, like this might be a thing. But Shane is too small and stupid to really understand, so he just reaches for Qrow with his free hand, tangles their fingers together. Can’t mess this up, pulling Qrow down on top of him, pressing kisses across his neck where the bare skin starts.

“Lube, condoms?” Qrow asks, and Shane never thought there was anything particularly sexy about ear-licking before but Qrow’s teaching him he was wrong. Shane shakes his head, he hasn’t needed those things in months. “That’s fine, I have them, didn’t know if you’d want something different,” Qrow says, pulling his hand free just to join Shane’s other hand still on his cock. Shane can’t quite form words, tries to spread his knees, but Qrow’s voice is low and husky in his ear, “I want you to fuck me, Shane,  _ please _ .”

Shane wasn’t expecting that. Wasn’t expecting Qrow to want anything like that, not when Qrow is strong and sure and Shane is, well.  _ Shane.  _ He nods as some unnameable emotion swells in his ribcage, can’t do anything but as Qrow springs up to dig in his pants pocket, one hand on Shane’s ankle. Qrow rolls the condom over Shane with quick expert fingers, and it’s very late and Shane’s never prepared a man for this before, and maybe it’s not normal to make Qrow reach behind himself and open himself up but Shane’s not arguing, not when Qrow performs the whole act with his eyes on Shane’s face and his lip caught between his teeth.

Qrow sinks down into Shane’s lap, tight as hell and hot as the sun, and oh, everything is so much easier when they’re naked and moving. Easier when there’s no words, just Qrow falling forward and surrounding him, when all Shane has to keep track of is his hand wrapped around Qrow’s cock, bend his knees and find some leverage and thrust up into Qrow as hard as he can. Qrow sets a brutal pace, and Shane can barely keep up but he does, he manages, even gets Qrow to spill over Shane’s hand before white-hot sparks flare in the back of Shane’s eyes and everything comes together in a single perfect moment over almost before it begins.

Afther, Qrow moves the absolute minimum needed to not hurt anyone when he collapses on top of Shane, curled around Shane’s heart like it’s worth protecting. Shane runs his hand through Qrow’s sweaty hair and in that moment of clarity he realizes something. This is all Qrow wants.

Not the sex, really. Not like how some people want nothing but a dick to fill the hole inside them. Shane gropes towards the words for what he knows. Four nights in Shane’s bed only, but he knows, he just  _ knows _ that’s all Qrow wants, to be in Shane’s bed even if they’re both wearing pants. He knew it, really, from the first time he showed Qrow the birds behind Joja. Qrow wants someone to worry about him when he’s gone.

Shane  _ gets  _ it, he really does. Gets not wanting to worry nieces and whoever Tai is. Shane wishes he was strong enough to keep it from Jas and Marnie, but he’s got nowhere to run. Qrow can come here and be afraid, be less than perfect.

Why  _ Shane _ of all people in Pelican Town, all the people on Patch, Shane cannot fathom. Does it matter? Qrow’s decided on him, rare and precious as a bird deciding to trust him, take food from his hand. Shane’s too selfish and not cruel enough to second-guess him, to do anything but hold him tightly and run his palm down Qrow’s back.

They fall asleep like that, a sticky mess they’ll regret in the morning. It’s worth it, though, for the sight of Qrow’s face made soft by the early morning light, the way his eyelashes curl against his cheek. For the long minutes Qrow lays in his arms and Shane can pretend for a little while that he can keep someone safe.

“I have to go,” Qrow says eventually. “There's a thing in Vale I need to take care of.”

“It has to be you?” Shane asks, because for once he has a day off, for once he could spend it with Qrow.

“Nobody else can,” Qrow says, giving Shane a crooked smile. “I’m the best.”

“I’ll miss you,” Shane says, not arguing. “Stay safe.”

Qrow makes no attempt to move, Shane does not make him. Only when they hear Jas moving, humming loudly as she brushes her teeth does Qrow sigh and stand and reach for his clothes.

* * *

Sometimes the things Qrow does for Ozpin are so secret he can’t tell  _ anyone _ . Not even Glynda or Ironwood can know. Not even  _ Tai _ could know if he was inclined to ask. They aren’t keep-from-panicking-the-public secret, or requiring security clearances most people don’t know exist, or super-spy infiltration missions. These are the kind of secrets that get tortured out of people. Ozpin thinks, after centuries of experience with these things, the enemy has learned it’s futile to try, that Oz himself has learned not to tell anyone these sorts of things.

Qrow trusts him on that, and tries not to think too hard about  _ how,  _ exactly, Oz learned that.

It takes a little alcohol and a lot of effort for him to feel bad for the Spring Maiden. She’s just a kid, not even old enough to drink. Everyone else Oz sat down and asked if they wanted to go in further, every step of the way. Even when Qrow was impatient and eager to please and didn’t let him finish the sentence - almost fifteen years ago and he can still remember how patient Oz was, refusing to take them into his service until they had thought about it for nine whole days. Everyone from Qrow and Glynda all the way down to the kids at the feeder schools got to decide if they were going to go out against monsters or if they were going to build something worth protecting with other people’s lives.

Everyone except the Maidens, lucky young girls who just wake up one day with flaming eye lasers.

Still, it’s not like he can take that away from her and let her go back to her normal life. That’s not an option, there’s only the one way to take the magic from her. There is no happy ending where she hands it over to someone who actually wants it, someone pure of heart and noble of soul who will ride off into the sunrise and slay the demon queen. No version of the story where she goes back to her sleepy little neighborhood and lives a long and boring life.

It would be easier to feel sorry for her if she’d ever slept in the rain.

Usually he meets Raven in some dingy bar or another. Somewhere dark, where people mind their own business and there’s plenty of alcohol. But the kid isn’t old enough to drink, so they’re stuck in an all-night diner, too-bright lights humming and bitter coffee in the brown salt-glazed mugs they all seem to share. He doesn’t even wait until the waitress has walked away to spike his. She gives him a look but doesn’t say anything, fine, whatever. He just… needs it to deal with his sister. Doesn’t need it, really. It’s just easier. Easier with memory's sharp edge blunted.

Qrow knocked on her door in the pre-dawn light. She would have been waiting for him, ready. She'd known he was coming, Ozpin had told her so she’d have plenty of time to say her good-byes. Qrow very carefully didn’t think about why that was so important to her, to Oz that he made sure she’d be able to.

“Are you ready?”he asked when she opened the door. He never had time for niceties. She wouldn’t anymore, either. He really didn’t have time to be reminded how young she was.

She nodded, all big scared eyes. Closed the door carefully behind her, tested the knob. “Where are you going to… I mean. I don’t want my mother to find my body.”

“Wait, what?” Qrow all but spat whiskey on her. “What the hell are you talking about, the whole point is for  _ nobody _ to find you!”

“Aren’t you going to… You know.” She slid a finger across her neck. It was so far from how a throat should  _ be  _ cut that it took a moment for it to register.

Qrow couldn’t stop the full-body shiver at that. “I’m not going to  _ kill _ you. What under the shattered moon gave you  _ that _ idea?”

The girl looked at her feet. “Ozpin said I’d have this until I died, and then that you were taking me somewhere I’d be safe so I should say goodbye to everyone, but he wasn’t super specific, and, um. I thought he was being gentle.” Her voice was very small, and Qrow was too much of an uncle to leave her hanging, even though he kind of wanted to.

“No, kid, no.” He rested his hand on her shoulder, waited until she was looking him in the eye. “You want out. You want to live somewhere safe. We’re going to make that happen best we can, okay? That doesn’t mean we’re going to abandon you, alright, doesn’t mean we’re going to hurt you.”

“Then  _ where?” _

“I’m taking you to my sister.” It was easy for Qrow to forget that most people had no idea Raven even existed, made it come quicker to his tongue, even though it was technically a lie. “She made the same choice you did, she’s going to help you.”

The girl nodded. Qrow didn’t tell her that of the two, he’d choose death every time. Raven had gone back to the tribe, and that was… a dealbreaker. She’d keep the Maiden safe, though, to spite Oz if nothing else. “Thank you,” she says, very quietly.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “We got a boat to catch.” And he knew, even as he led her down to the seaside, onto the ship and into her new life, that that conversation would be added to the rotation, the list of memories playing behind his eyes when he was too sober and safe. Like now, in the diner, the muffled sound of a dropped plate behind the kitchen door.

So really, was it a wonder he spent as much of next week as he could as drunk as he could get? The girl was old enough he didn’t actually need to look out for her, just hand her cash at regular intervals and break one guy’s wandering hand. This was the worst kind of mission, nothing to kill, nothing to find, not even anything to watch when they were on the goddamn boat. Nothing to do but drink and look at old photographs, summer colored amber by the glass. Only when the girl wasn’t looking, too weak for him to trust her. Never before meeting Raven, anyways, lest he be too caught up in what it was like when they were together, before she abandoned her family.

He doesn’t have any photographs of Shane. Maybe a normal person would, but a normal person doesn’t have literal servants of the Great Destroyer on his trail. The rest of STRQ, fair game, but Ruby and Yang they’ve always tried to keep out of the crosshairs as long as they could.

The kid gets a chocolate milkshake as big as her head, promptly spills it all over herself. Serves her right for being greedy, or something, though Qrow knows it’s not karma, it’s just his semblance, more out of control than usual -and that’s saying something.

(Here’s a drinking game, what’s safer? Qrow half the world away from them, too far for his curse to reach? Qrow down the road, close enough to defend them? Qrow in the house full of glass and water, close enough to love them? Sometimes it seems like his luck runs better on Patch. Pelican Town is downright safe, most of the time.)

Does Shane like boats? Qrow doesn’t think so. He can’t imagine Shane bobbing on a little island, trapped in the middle of all this empty vastness. Shane isn’t even for the wide open silver sky, not really. Shane is for the chickens in the flock and the chicks in the nest. For soft fluffy down and a cozy house on cold summer nights. For never going hungry, because he works hard to lay in a stock of food, for bright fire and never running out of wood. Shane is something Qrow can’t really name and doesn’t quite know. He’s starting to understand, finally. Why some people sign up for the shitty hunting gig, even though they don’t have the standard tragic hunter backstory.

Qrow’s distracted from his thoughts by Raven. The sound of her portal, or the flickering magic of shedding feathers calling to his own, or maybe just some mystical twin bond they’ve never been able to prove. “Stay here,” he says to the kid, tosses enough cash to cover the bill and tip on the table. With any luck, it’ll be the last time he sees her.

Raven’s in the back, one of the blue-sodium lights washing all the red out of her, leaving her a shadowed ghost. They stare at each other for a minute, they usually do. It’s months or years between seeing each other, and there’s so much to catch up on.

She’s got more beads around her neck now, deeper shadows under her eyes. Qrow wonders what she sees when she looks at him. But when she finally breaks the silence, it’s Tai she asks about.

“Summer’s man?” she asks, and from anyone else that might be a passive-aggressive jab, but from Raven that’s approval. Giving up her claim. Trusting the woman she trusted with her daughter.

Qrow shakes his head. “Summer’s family’s fine,” he says. Always Summer’s family. Even in death, it’s her family and he’s just a part.

Raven nods, a short sharp jerk of her chin. “So what, you’ve given up drinking and this is your step nine?”

“No,” Qrow says, low and heartfelt. To prove it, he finds his flask and takes a swig. Giving up drinking is one thing. Twelve-step programs are possibly invented by the Destroyer. If not her, someone crueler.

“Thank the  _ stars,” _ Raven agrees, and he can see her tremble with relief. Nobody likes being on the receiving end of step nine. Their eyes lock, and for a moment, for just a moment, there’s the old silent communion, the twin language nobody else can ever learn, made of memories no one else has. The tiny eyeroll and tinier smirk as together they remember being seventeen and backed against the wall by a large man as he demanded they forgive him. How ridiculous it seems now, how terrifying it was then.

Nobody likes being on the receiving end of step nine.

Then the moment passes, and Raven looks down and Qrow looks up. “I’m not covering your bill,” she says. “You can wash dishes.”

“I brought someone to meet you,” he says, jerks his thumb at the diner. He knows Raven’s eyes are sharp enough to pick the kid out. “She likes Ozpin about as much as you do.”

“Well that’s all I need to hear.” Raven bares her teeth in what’s meant to be a smile. “The tribe welcomes all sorts of people. Children. Traitors.”

“Promise-breakers?” he asks softly, because he’s not going to let her hurt him without striking back and he knows she’ll hurt him before she leaves. Raven doesn’t answer, as he knew she wouldn’t. What answer could she possibly have? “They’re thieves and murderers,” he adds. “Waking up every day and choosing to make the world worse.”

“They’re not going to change on their own, Qrow,” she says, gently. He hates when she’s gentle. It means poison hidden in the honey of her words. “I am changing it. Slowly, but it is changing. This doesn’t happen overnight.”

Qrow sips from his flask again. “So what, they only beat the kids halfway to death?”

Her eyes flash hard for a second, and he swears he sees the impulse to strike him running red down her arms, dark lizard-brain reflex. “The kids are in my charge now,” she says.

Qrow spits out his whiskey, hard. Hard enough for some to hit her, and she flinches and he doesn’t care. “I am  _ raising  _ your fucking  _ child,”  _ he snarls, and in the moment he doesn’t care about who was the better mom or what Tai never asked her straight out, only Yang’s eyes red as blood as she beats tiny fists against the floor and rages about the mothers who abandoned her, the one who can’t come back and the one who refuses. Only Tai curled around baby Ruby, the spitting image of her mother, and all the weeks it felt like he was the only one left who cared about Yang and he was never good enough, never who she wanted.

Raven very calmly wipes her face clean, “No, you’re out here doing Ozpin’s dirty work.”

And then she’s gone, walking towards the diner, every inch a queen going to collect her tribute. She looks nothing like what she is, liar, oathbreaker and coward. She looks free and lovely and Qrow wishes he could debase himself enough to follow her.

It’s easier when she’s inside, when he no longer has to look at her. 

He takes to the air. Ozpin cannot bring himself to speak her name, does she know that? Would she care? Would she enjoy knowing how deeply she hurt him? Qrow would, and Qrow’s a better person than her, low fucking bar. She and Spring deserve each other.

That’s not his problem anymore. Ozpin asked him to find a safe place to stash the kid, he did, and hopefully Ozpin won’t ask him where he left her, because man, that’s going to be one awkward conversation. She’s not dead, he can check up on her if he has to, mission fucking accomplished.

Qrow is very tired.

He wants to go back to Pelican Town, wants to lay his head on Shane’s chest and be rocked to sleep by the rhythm of his breathing. Wants to go somewhere where Raven isn’t a memory, where nobody speaks her name and the black birds high above can never be her. Where it’s easy to remember why he never went home.

Raven didn’t even notice. Raven, who used to know before he knew himself. Raven has no idea Shane exists. For once in his life, for the  _ first  _ time, this is something all his own.

He’s not sure what to do with it save cherish Shane all the more. Maybe give him a thank-you blowjob.

The glittering star-string of the Gallus rises to the north, and he points his wings towards it, towards home.

* * *

It takes a lot of coaxing before Qrow will stay for breakfast and meet Jas. And in the end, it’s not anything Shane says. It’s Shane having a bad day. He wants to just pull the blanket over his head, quit his job and put rocks in his pocket and walk into the ocean. But he can’t hurt Marnie like that, he  _ can’t _ . Marnie would be better off without him, he knows, but she doesn’t, she’d blame herself. And Jas…

He’s scared Jas enough.

Shane would fail if he tried, he knows, he’s failed at everything else in his life, what makes him think he’d manage this? He’s too much of a coward, too stupid to do anything right. All he can do is watch the clock, the numbers moving slow as feathers drifting. Qrow’s there, which does not actually make him feel better. Qrow’s sleeping on his chest like he always does, heavy and sweaty and trapping him. Shane doesn’t know why that bothers him, since he has no intention of moving. Qrow’s hot and Shane could almost hate him but right now he’s not doing emotions. He’s just counting down the numbers, wondering if he should bother taking a shower. Nobody would notice. He doesn’t care if anyone notices. There are very few benefits to being the town drunk. Qrow’s running his hands over Shane’s chest, his arms, like the pain’s coming from a physical wound. Good luck finding it, Shane thinks. There’s no  _ damage _ to him. This is just who he is.

He doesn’t have to get up just yet. Qrow does, and Shane is vaguely thankful he can now move his arm. He doesn’t, there’s no reason to, but he could if he wanted to. It’s the arm with the scar from the box at Jojamart. He doesn’t even remember what sort of box that was. Just the blood, and freezing while Sam cleaned it up, and everyone from Harvey on down assuming he did it on purpose. Just telling the story over and over, and nobody believing him. He wonders how many people he'd disappointed.

He can’t remember the last time he changed his sheets. They feel disgusting, full of dead skin and old sweat, marinating him in his own filth. Fine, it’s what he deserves for being so lazy. It would take what, ten minutes? Why bother. This is what he is, small and disgusting and not worth ten minutes.

“Hey,” Qrow says. “I made you coffee.”

Shane doesn’t answer. He can’t remember the right answer.

“Okay, Marnie made it,” Qrow admits, his flask in his hand again. Nobody ever gives him a problem with the flask. Shane should get one of his own. Of course, it’s small and it wouldn’t last him until noon. “Also Jas doesn’t want to leave for school without seeing you.”

Shane thinks about this for a minute. Some days he loves Jas. Today, he doesn’t. Today, he physically  _ can’t _ . He wishes he could, but he is too small and stupid. But one of those days might come soon, so he swings his feet on the floor and says, “I’m coming.”

It’s not Jas’ fault he’s not good enough for her. She’s too young to understand. She’d blame herself and he can’t let that happen.

It’s not until he gets off of work and finds Qrow’s note by the jukebox that he realizes that was the first time Qrow’s spoken to Jas.

Shane doesn’t know what Marnie said to him that morning, but Qrow stops hiding in Shane’s room. He helps Marnie with the bags of animal feed she just can’t move by herself, and the dishes, and he is always exquisitely kind to her. He’s an absolute disaster in the kitchen, though; Marnie won’t let him make anything more complicated than frozen pizza.

Then Qrow puts a pizza in the oven on a plastic cutting board, and he’s not allowed to even make that.

Jas  _ adores  _ him, and Shane smiles to see it. Qrow says he doesn’t want Jas to get attached to him, that he’s unreliable and unstable, and Shane reminds him that he’s not looking for a stepfather for Jas, that whatever Qrow and Jas have is just between the two of them.

Qrow brings Jas pink flowers and cool rocks, the kind of things he picks up at the side of the road, and once a coconut because she told him she’d never seen one. He knows all the characters in her books and all the words to her songs, and he braids pretty ribbons in her hair. Shane tells him he doesn’t have to bring her a present every time he sees her, and Qrow’s eyes are very serious as he says, “I want her to know I was thinking of her.”

Sometimes Qrow hangs out behind Jojamart while Shane’s at work, feeds the crows or throws sticks into the river, killing time. He never comes into the store,except the once.

He’s not alone when he comes in, Jas is with him, and he buys her a pack of her favorite snack cakes to eat while they wait for Shane to sneak away when Morris isn’t looking.

“Marnie’s not home yet,” Jas says, and there are tears on her face. Marnie was supposed to be home before Jas left school or what passes for it in Pelican Town. But the buses from the city are slow and irregular, and she didn’t know how long she’d be in the city anyways. She’s clinging to him now, and Shane wishes he could keep her here, keep her safe with him.

Morris would never let him. Morris  _ might _ let him leave early, but that’s a big if, and he certainly wouldn’t pay Shane for it. Jas needs him now, but Jas also needs food on her table and a roof over her head, and Shane knows Marnie can’t manage that without him.

“Where do you want me to take her?” Qrow asks softly, one hand on Jas’ shoulder. Half the town, Jas wouldn’t be okay with that, but Qrow is always so gentle with her, and so she likes him. Come to think of it, Qrow isn’t as gentle with more than half the town.

Jodi or Caroline would be glad to take Jas until Shane or Marnie could. Qrow could take her to Gus’ or back to the museum, to somewhere public. But Shane trusts him, Jas trusts him. “Do you mind taking her home?” Shane asks.

“Not at all,” Qrow says, and he even asks Jas if she wants a ride.

“I’ll bring home something special for dinner, okay?”, Shane says while Qrow settles Jas firmly on his shoulders. He manages to bend over far enough for Shane to hug her goodbye. “Do you have your key?” he asks, and Jas nods, and then they leave.

Shane finishes his shift, his biggest concern what he’s going to bring home for dinner. He settles on pizza and pepper poppers from the tavern, because if he doesn’t at least stick his head in, Gus and Emily will worry. When he comes home, Jas has won thirty-eight card games in a row, and the despondent look in Qrow’s eye makes Shane think he wasn’t throwing them on purpose. But Jas is smiling, so Shane is happy.

After Marnie calls with the bad news, Shane tucks Jas in and kisses her forehead and promises to ask Qrow if he’s staying for breakfast. He’s rather sure Qrow will stay that long at least. 

Shane finds Qrow in his bedroom, sitting on the bed and sipping from his flask, and Shane sits next to him and that’s when it happens.

“I wasn’t drinking when I was alone with her,” Qrow promises, like that was even a question. Like that’s not something Shane himself has done. “I just... don’t sleep too well without it.”

And oh, Shane knows that feeling very well, and Qrow himself sounds very tired, so Shane presses him to the mattress for something less about passion than comfort and gratitude.

Shane likes to watch Qrow sleep even more after that, in the pale gold light. 

He’s no hero. He’s a thirty year old stockboy living in his aunt’s house, doing his best for Jas and he knows that’s not good enough. Monsters creep up from the depths of the mines and he’s helping an evil soulsucking corporation kill this town, but Qrow curls up in Shane’s bed, tucks himself under Shane’s arm, and sleeps like he’s safe. Shane’s got maybe too much padding on his bones, but it doesn’t seem such a bad thing when Qrow’s head is pillowed on his chest, where Shane can trace the curve of his ear.

Shane can’t do… so many things, Shane has failed at so many things.

But he can do this. He can hold Qrow through the night and keep him safe, keep him warm.

* * *

Robin ambushes Qrow outside the Stardrop a couple weeks later, once he’s spent too many nights with Shane to really keep track. Once he’s spent enough evenings at the bar with Shane everyone can tell they’re together. There’s a half-carved…  _ something _ in her hands, and she’s peeling off more curls of wood with an extremely sharp knife. Robin in general is sharp as nails, subtle as a hammer. Scary the way Glynda is scary, because Qrow’s seen how gentle she holds her husband on the dance floor, how soft her smile is when she looks at her children. Qrow has learned people like that are far stronger than any lone-wolf musclehead. “I like you much better than the others,” she says.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Qrow says, slowly.

Robin’s hands don’t stop moving. Robin’s hands never stop moving. “The ones Shane used to bring when he came home. They pretended the three of them weren’t a  _ thing _ , which was dumb because literally nobody here would care except Hayley and Emily’s parents, and  _ they  _ would have to notice Shane exists first. It was even more obvious when they brought Jas along; she’s got his blood even if he ain’t her daddy. I guess he is now, though.” She pauses. “No, no, I shouldn’t have said that. That part isn’t my business.”

Someone Shane brought home. Jas’ parents. Jas does look an awful lot like Shane, more than Ruby looks like Qrow. Jas’ parents who died in a car crash and the scars on Shane’s knees he doesn’t talk about. Qrow can connect the dots easily enough.

“Anyways,” Robin continues. “This is a small town. Shane’s Marnie’s nephew, which makes him the next thing to  _ my  _ nephew. Marnie told me some things, back then. She’s not a stupid woman, I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now, but she’s physically incapable of telling Shane when he’s being a dumbass.” Robin snorts, repositions the wood in her hands. “Shane is capable of  _ magnificent  _ acts of dumbassery.”

“Not that I’ve seen,” Qrow murmurs, taking out his flask. Sometimes he just likes to hold it, feel its comforting weight and know he has the option.

Robin nods, her eyes still on her hands. “He grew up when Jas came around, yeah. But he’s real good at lying to himself. He tried to lie to Marnie too, tell her they were  _ equals _ . Equal doesn’t kick someone to the pullout. Equal doesn’t ask him to lie to his family and say they’re just friends. Equal doesn’t spin on the dance floor while Shane watches and tries to pretend he’s okay.”

Robin looks up at him, through very red bangs, and she looks nothing like Glynda in the moment, looks like Raven at her most murderous. “Nothing wrong with being three in this town, you understand? And nothing wrong with wanting some privacy; this is just what I saw. But those two. It would have been better if they put a collar on him. More honest, at least.”

Qrow takes the option.

“I don’t know what they did when nobody was looking.” Robin’s knife is very quick, very sure. “But Shane didn’t always lurk in the corners, didn’t always put himself last in line like he does. Someone taught him that.” Her eyes and her smile are as sharp as her blade. “You be patient with him, Qrow Branwen. You treat him right. We won’t let him down twice.”

“I’m trusting what he tells me,” Qrow says, and it’s half-defiance, half-pleading. “What would you rather me do?”

Robin cocks an eyebrow at him, but she nods. “Nothing different, I suppose,” she says. “Know what happened. Know things used to be different.”

“He’s not a broken bracelet for me to fix,” Qrow says, because he’s not that stupid and he’s too damned sober.

“I know,” Robin says, putting her work away. “But it’s been years and he still won’t believe us. Maybe he’ll believe you. And Qrow?” She smiles up at him. “If you hurt him, I will feed you to a woodchipper. Feet-first.”

Qrow doesn’t know how to respond to this. He has absolutely no doubt Robin can and will. She goes inside, because it is Friday and on Friday she dances with her husband in front of more than half the town. Pierre and Caroline do it too, sometimes, and Qrow hasn’t missed how carefully Abigail splits her dances between Sam and Sebastian. Half of Qrow’s mind is wondering if the tradition has a deeper meaning.

The other half is trying to stifle the spike of envy in his heart. He can hear the music drifting out the door, something slow and sad, like love cut short by death and all the long nights after. Shane’s sitting in his corner, like he always is, smiles when he sees Qrow like he always does. Gus has a drink poured for Qrow before he even sits down. He’s officially a regular, he thinks.

“Did your nieces do your hair today?” Shane asks, still smiling.

“Yeah.” It’s about the only way to get Yang to let him brush her hair, let her brush his in return. Technically it was three days ago but he’s been a bird for most of them. “How’d you know?”

Shane reaches out and plucks… two of Yang’s purple barrettes from Qrow’s hair. “I guess she thought you needed more color.”

Oh,  _ no,  _ he just talked to Robin. How had she kept a straight face. Worse, he’d just come back from Atlas, another one of Ozpin’s messages that couldn’t be trusted to anyone else, Schnee couldn’t get that damn tower up soon enough, he’d transformed as soon as he landed in Ironwood’s office… he’d talked to  _ Jimmy _ like that…

He's never going to be able to look the General in the eye again.

Shane laughs as Qrow put his head on the table, tucks the barrettes in Qrow’s pocket. Pats him on the shoulder and tells him, “it’s fine, don’t worry.”

“I was delivering official  _ messages _ ,” Qrow says into his elbow.

“And you looked beautiful,” Shane says, his hand on the back of Qrow’s neck. Qrow hasn’t told him that he doesn’t like anyone else’s hand on his neck. “It wasn’t so bad, they’re small,” Shane says, rubbing circles with his thumb, and Qrow allows himself to be comforted. “I’m sure nobody else noticed them.”

“They’re  _ purple _ ,” Qrow protests, feebly and he knows it. Shane doesn’t say anything and his thumb doesn’t stop moving. “I guess nobody laughed,” he admits after a couple minutes. “Tell me about work?”

He likes to hear about it, the things Shane does where people don’t die if he does them wrong. Where there’s rules and set hours and steady pay. Jojamart itself is… not great in so many ways. But not enough people buy from Marnie’s ranch, and Qrow knows very well how expensive it is to raise a kid. Shane’s worked there for forty hours a week as long as Qrow’s been hanging around Pelican Town, and he’s never seen Shane miss a day.

There’s something at Shane’s core, something made of steel or diamond, that does now bow and does not break and keeps him putting one foot in front of the other, even as he calls himself weak and stupid and worthless. 

(Raven has steel in her soul, but she still bent and buckled. Taiyang has a heart of diamond, and it shattered.)

Shane still gets up every morning and makes his way to a job he hates, a job that’s killing him slowly, even though he sees no point in it. There are days Qrow’s seen where Shane just pulls the blanket over his head for five more minutes, but never more than that, pushes himself across town in the clothes he wore the day before -but he always makes it on time, always stays the whole shift. He has a child to take care of after all, a child with no uncle to pop in and take care of things. There’s not a lot of talking on those days, none at all from Shane, but Qrow will take the bad with the good. For all they talk alike, all they hurt alike, Shane’s bad days look like Taiyang’s good ones.

Qrow brings him pizza and beer on his lunch break those days, sits with Shane at the bar until Gus cuts them off, pays their tab and half-carries Shane home. Not that he’s ever seen Shane needing it, save the once. But he needs to be close to him, to remind Shane he’s there. They never have sex those days, but Shane has a television in his room, and they fall asleep to old reruns of murder shows.

There’s something inside of Shane, something Qrow cannot name, unbreakable and unknowable and unimaginably strong. Qrow wants it even as he’s shamed by it, even as it makes him feel very small and weak next to this man in a torn hoodie and cargo shorts, this man who does what Qrow cannot. Qrow cannot stay with his nieces more than a week or so before it’s too much and he must flee, kiss them goodbye and promise to come back soon and fly as far away as he dares.

“Are you okay?” Shane asks him, and Qrow sits up properly.

He means to say yes, but what comes out is, “Ruby might be my daughter.”

Shane’s hands tighten around his mug, but he doesn’t say anything.

“After Yang was born, her mom… she couldn’t. She left Yang and Tai with us, and then there were...” This is so hard to say. But Shane is nodding along like he can actually follow. “There were the three of us. And…” Qrow sighs, drains his glass.

He’s sure Gus and half the fucking town can hear. But he’s got so many of their secrets it seems almost fair to give them this. He knows they’ll keep it. Here he’s not Qrow Branwen Super-Spy, Ozpin’s Right Eye. Here he’s just Marlon’s friend who spends some nights in Shane’s bed, or maybe Shane’s friend who sometimes helps Marlon. 

“There were three of us, for a little bit. Ruby came and it didn’t matter who the other half came from, she looks so much like her mother, Shane, you have no idea. We had two good years, and Ruby called me uncle same as Yang did, and it didn’t matter.”

The bar is shadowy and golden, nothing like Beacon’s clean marble, or Summer’s kitchen, dark now, or the dirty places when he was a child. Shane’s hand is on Qrow’s and Shane is so small and so strong, like Summer was once upon a time. “Yang didn’t know she was adopted until after Summer died, you know? Not really adopted, I mean, Tai’s her dad. But we were at the funeral and someone pointed out that they both look just like their mothers and. I couldn’t lie to them.”

A new glass has magically appeared. Shane whispers his name, slides off his stool to stand between Qrow’s knees, and he is too close for Qrow to see anything but his green shirt and his dark hair, Shane’s arms around Qrow, and nobody outside this town would ever recognize him. “We couldn’t, afterwards.  _ Tai _ couldn’t. So they’re my nieces now, forever.” Qrow lets his head drop down on Shane’s shoulder, which is considerably more comfortable than the bar. “We haven’t been a thing for a long time,” Qrow says into Shane’s neck. Shane’s arms around him are strong, stronger than Tai’s ever were. “Five years. Longer-” Qrow laughs. “Longer than we were together.”

He looks up at Shane. Shane’s eyes are dark and lovely, the color of the sky between the stars. “I thought you should know,” Qrow says. “Yang’s just as much mine as Ruby, and... That’s why I let them put barrettes in my hair.” What he means is… He’s too sober to know what he means.

What he means is he understands how three works, and he understands having a daughter that calls you uncle, and he understands if Shane doesn’t want anything to do with him after he’s confessed to all but abandoning his girls.

Shane does not kiss him, but he does lean in very close and say, “Let’s take you home,” and for a moment Qrow pretends Marnie’s ranch is his home too.

* * *

Shane’s never been good at keeping track of time, so when the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies comes, he’s taken almost by surprise. Happy surprise, because it’s one of his favorite things in Pelican Town, but wasn’t he just dodging birthday wishes last week?

Shane doesn’t like to think about the elasticity of time too much, because that invariably leads his thoughts back to sterile-bright days that stretched for years, or to dark springs that passed in the blink of an eye. Now he just writes things down and knows better than to make plans and lets Marnie tell him what needs to be done.

Qrow has changed that, and not the way Shane expected. When Qrow’s not there, the days are unchanging and quick, falling away into the depths until it was all one day that he went to work and took Jas to her appointment and scrubbed out the microwave. One night he slept alone, ghosts held at bay by beer. He doesn’t miss Qrow simply because Qrow is never really gone more than two or three different days, even if it’s ten or fifteen of the same.

Shane wishes Qrow was here now, though not because he can’t remember anymore how long it’s been since they were counting blue cars. Shane wants to know if Qrow would like to watch the jellyfish drifting and glowing like something magical underwater, the silent ballet that never turns into disappointing banality. 

The dock still holds the sun’s warmth, and Jas yawns as she leans against Shane. It’s past her bedtime, but it’s summer vacation and a special occasion, and maybe this will be the year she stays awake late enough to witness. Shane runs his fingers through her hair, and her mother’s bones are under her skin and he looks away before the thought finishes.

He can hear the song of the sea, and it reminds him of a book he read long ago, of elves that could not resist its call and knew no peace until they crossed it. It was the gulls that cursed them, if Shane remembers right, and Shane always suspected that the author had never met a real seagull because nobody would ever want to follow their squawks.

The waves whispering, that’s what calls Shane, always just on the edge of his hearing, and many has been the time he thought about filling the pockets of  _ his _ hoodie with rocks and walking until the words are clear. Walking along the bottom until he finds  _ him,  _ finds  _ her. _ It wouldn’t be so bad, nothing left for Marnie and Jas to find, no mess for them to clean up.

One day, with his courage screwed to the sticking place, he’ll follow the jellyfish south and see where they go. One day. Not today, because he might still have to carry Jas home. But one day.

The jellyfish glow soft blue and purple, yellow and white and rare green as they pass under the dock. This is the only place on the island they come so close to land. This is possibly the only place in the  _ world _ they come so close to land on their migration, the slow waltz that is so special to the valley. Do they call it a Dance because of how important dancing is, Shane wonders, or is the heavy significance of the dancing because of the jellyfish?

Dancing is important, here, in a way it isn't in other places. It’s a declaration and a promise, stronger than words, closer than lovers. It’s not something Shane has ever done, and now surrounded by his village who don’t see him, he wonders what it would be like to dance with Qrow.

Qrow is a head and more taller than Shane, and he moves less like his namesake bird and more like a mountain lion, silent grace in no way hiding his strength. But his shoulder is the perfect height for Shane to lean his head against, and Qrow would hold him so carefully. Qrow always holds him so carefully.

Qrow can’t dance with Shane. Shane can’t let him, and every time he’s started to ask Shane’s made sure he knew not to finish. Qrow only comes here for a bit of fun, blowing off some steam and catching a nap sometimes. Shane can’t let him dance, not where everyone can see, not where someone could find them.

That would mean something, and Shane shouldn’t mean anything.

* * *

Pelican Town feels like another world.

Raven isn’t here. That’s the biggest thing. That will always, always be the biggest difference; his sister has been his lodestar since they were born, will be until the day he dies. He loves her even as he loathes her, but here, in Pelican Town, she has no power. Here, and only here, does she stop haunting his steps.

(He hopes, a little selfishly and a lot maliciously, that his shadow lurks in every corner of her life, that she is tangled in him every bit as tightly as he is bound to her.)

It’s not just her. Pelican Town holds no ghosts for him, no questions he’s afraid to ask, no promises he might break on accident. His beloved dead do not rest in the cemetery, there are no trees torn down by someone else’s rage at his mistakes. Whatever blew through and broke so much and left so suddenly did not touch him, and he cannot be blamed for it in turn. There is only Emily’s gentle smile, and Jas’ small voice welcoming him back, and Shane’s dark eyes lighting up as he sits near him.

Pelican Town feels like another world, one Qrow doesn’t live in, just drops in for as long as he can pretend to be human. Human that occasionally turns into a bird, but actually human who wasn’t raised by wolves and bandits and bartenders. For a few days in a row, a week on the outside, Qrow is normal and nobody needs him to be superhuman, and he never worries that he’ll come home to Shane hanging from the rafters in Marnie’s barn.

Qrow doesn’t live in Pelican Town, but Shane has to, and so Qrow follows his lead even as a gnawing ache grows inside him. He never thought of himself as a particularly handsy person, thought of himself as tolerating Tai and humoring Summer, but in the valley he learns differently, or maybe he learns they’ve changed him.

Shane never reaches for Qrow, not where people can see, though he won’t pull away if Qrow touches him. Shane won’t let Qrow buy him ice cream or lemonade from Alex, and as much as Qrow wants to he doesn’t dare wipe  _ anything  _ off Shane’s face. Part of it is Qrow’s fault, he knows. It’s always partly Qrow’s fault, isn’t it?

The couples dance on Friday night and Qrow’s stopped asking Shane if he wants to. Shane is very tired on Friday nights, and those are the nights they’re most likely to end up with their legs dangling over water somewhere, Shane tucked under Qrow’s arm.

Tonight they’re in Cindersap Forest again, quiet and dark, lit only by the fireflies blinking yellow. Shane’s having a bad day, Qrow knows, from how he didn’t stay too long at the Stardrop, from the way he sinks against Qrow and doesn’t say anything, just draws his knees up and cracks a beer open.

Qrow still doesn’t know what exactly happened to Shane’s knees. He freely admits he’s afraid to ask. Shane all but told him, Robin filled in the rest. The actual mechanics he can imagine well enough, the bones poking out, pink and red as a child’s crayon drawing. Why does he want to ask when Shane so clearly doesn’t want to talk about it? Shane doesn’t mind him touching the scars. Why isn’t that enough?

It’s not like Qrow doesn’t have secrets of his own. He never realized how difficult it would be to keep them when he promised. He’s never wanted to tell people before. Most people he doesn’t care enough to bother reading in. Leo and Theo annoy him. Ironwood knows an awful lot, since he’s the only one who can keep up with Qrow at the bar. Glynda knows even more; she was there for most of it. Ozpin and Raven know almost all of it.

Tai… Tai knows everything. Except Shane.

It chokes Qrow every time Tai asks where he was, sent him into a coughing fit when Tai asked him about the crows over by Jojamart with sarcasm thick on his tongue. Months and months, the biggest thing since Summer died, and Qrow hasn’t breathed a word to Taiyang, and the guilt is suffocating, sends his hands to shaking in ways hard to explain. But he can’t, can’t without asking Shane first, and Shane is so hard to ask.

Shane’s hoodie is old and soft in a way that reminds Qrow of Summer’s cape, and the sleeves speak volumes with how they are just a little too long. Qrow’s too much of a coward to ask for more. Jas’ parents died in a car accident, and Shane hates hospitals. Jas’ parents and Shane were three, and he came home with scars on his knees and scars on his heart for the whole town to see. Shane pretended he wasn’t, and the whole town didn’t care but tiptoed around it anyways, and Shane never reaches for Qrow.

Qrow can feel the scars under his fingers, but he can feel the muscle too. Thick and soft from daily labor, the kind so few huntsmen have. Huntsmen train and train and train for a day that may never come, for the one day of fortune and glory. Shane has the muscles of quiet thankless effort. “I won’t ask you to dance with me,” he says, because Shane’s made it quite fucking clear he doesn’t want to. His other hand steals into Shane’s hair of its own volition, combing through the dark strands. “But I need to tell Tai.”

Shane does not look up, just murmurs, “He’s not in the valley.”

“No,” Qrow says, and then like happens far too often around Shane the words start spilling out. “I need to tell him, please, I’ll do whatever you want-”

Shane tips his head up to look at Qrow, and Qrow can’t resist, cuts himself off to press a kiss against Shane’s lips. He tastes like beer and air-conditioning, he tastes like civilization and all the beautiful things that need walls. 

“I’ll lie if you want me to,” Qrow continues, because he doesn’t know what Shane wants. He’s floundering in small-town politics, which is the first thing he learned, the only kind Oz didn’t teach him, and he’ll appreciate the irony later. “Just not to him,  _ please,  _ babe.” He’s begging and he knows it and he doesn’t care, he just can’t not tell Taiyang about this new precious thing.

“I thought you told him already,” Shane says with a shrug. This was the wrong night to ask, Qrow knows, but he needs to tell Tai or he’ll just, he’s not sure, die. Assuming Tai doesn’t kill him for keeping secrets.

Qrow shakes his head, drops another kiss on Shane’s lips. He’s never been a fan of beer but he’s starting to learn.

“We hid it, when we came back,” Shane says to the stars. It’s the closest he’s come to telling Qrow about them, the first time he’s admitted there even  _ was _ a we. His hands clench around his nameless hungry ghosts and Qrow dares not take them. “Do you still love her?”

“Until the day I die,” Qrow says, knowing exactly what Shane means.

“I still…” Shane trails off. Qrow gets it.

“Of course you do,” he says. There’s a certain unfinished quality to burying your love. It grows back from the grave different than before, a nodding sunflower from a rose vine. It doesn’t feel like  _ cheating, _ but Qrow hasn’t found the words to tell the stone on the edge of the cliff.

Shane is heavy in his arms, leaning back like Qrow’s capable of holding his weight. He towers over Qrow normally, but tonight he is shrunken by the cold. “Tai’s not dead.”

“Tai can’t love me anymore,” Qrow says, and it doesn’t sting anymore. He can’t love Tai either, not like that, not after what Tai’s done to him. He can’t love anyone who puts the fear clotting and copper-thick in his throat. Qrow will crack the earth and tear down the sky to keep Tai safe… but that’s as his brother. They’ll never be partners again. Never stand equal again. Is this how Raven always felt?

Shane nods, like that answers a question Qrow didn’t know he was asking, and offers him another beer. Then, like he just remembered Qrow had asked a question, like he knows Qrow is like Ozpin and needs to hear some words out loud, Shane says, “You don’t have to keep me a secret.”

Qrow nods, and the beer is very cold in his hand. He is keeping Shane a secret, he’ll admit. Trying to keep Shane safe and hidden away from all the people who would try to hurt him if they knew. “Just Tai,” he says. Pelican Town is like another world, and call him selfish, but he’ll keep it safe from fire and blood as long as he can manage. Nobody else needs to know about it. 

* * *

Morris mentions as Shane’s punching out that Harvey called, something about a bird. And there’s a lecture about telling people to not call him during work, something Shane doesn’t listen to at all. Shane knows a thing or two about birds, but not nearly as much as Marnie, and if Harvey’s calling him about a bird it must be Qrow.

And if he crossed Morris four times it must be bad. 

It’s technically spring but it still feels like winter, the rain sneaking into Shane’s hood, skittering down his spine like skeletal-ice fingernails and he hurries to the clinic fast as he dares on the slick ground. 

“There you are,” Harvey says when Shane blows in the door, but before Shane can explain what took him so long the doctor tosses him a towel. “I hope I didn’t get you in trouble with Morris but someone needed to be called and Marlon’s not answering.”

“What happened,” Shane asks from behind the towel, half expecting Harvey to say  _ you’re not family, I’m sorry, I can’t tell you. _

“Clint brought him in,” Harvey says as Shane hangs up the towel and his hoodie next to it. He can’t wear it in here. “He’s not sure what exactly happened. There was a rockslide, some teeth marks. Shane.” Harvey’s hand is white-knucked on the doorknob. “We’re doing all we can for him. Can you get in touch with his family?”

Shane shakes his head mutely, dread in his stomach like a leaden ball, a distant familiar echo.

Harvey sighs. “I’ll try Marlon again. They should know he’s going to be stuck here awhile.” He pauses, and he looks like he’s going to say something important, but in the end he just says, “I can’t think of anything better for him than you. If Morris gives you any trouble, let me handle it, okay?”

Harvey’s back room is white and still. Maru stands up when she hears the door and offers him a weak smile. Shane wonders if nurses are trained in that smile, the balance between politeness and the absolute inappropriateness of a smile in this sort of thing. “We’ll be right outside if you need anything,” she says. “Don’t be afraid to touch him.”

Well there’s a whole new fear.

Qrow is hidden by green curtains and the murmuring of monitors, and Shane is struck by a wave of familiarity as strong as the scent of iodine. Shane finds him lying slender and pale and unnaturally still on the bed, a little off-center. His head is propped up and there is an oxygen mask tight against his face and Shane wants to pull it up, kiss him softly. 

Instead he makes his way to the chair at the side of the bed, his knees shaking as he takes inventory of the equipment. The mask and the machine it’s attached to he recognizes, and his own lung  _ hurts _ , a memory of something that happened to someone else, something he  _ cannot _ think about right now. There’s a needle tucked into Qrow’s arm and Shane recognizes that too, recognizes the painkillers strong enough they need a lockbox. Shane knows the black and red and blue and green wires of the heart monitor and he can guess at the white ones near qrow’s scalp. The clip folded over Qrow’s finger he doesn’t know, nor the grey coming off his chest, but what he does see is terrible enough.

He can take Qrow’s left hand in his. It’s not right to have Qrow all laid out like this. Qrow’s slept in his bed half a hundred times and Shane knows how Qrow sleeps, either sitting up or with his knees curled to his chest ready to roll on the floor and out of sight. Qrow does not sleep open and exposed and Shane knows he would not like this.

He can take Qrow’s left hand but not his right, because Qrow’s right hand is swathed immobile and propped up high. The sheets are pushed out of the way, down to Qrow’s waist, and Shane can see the bruises painted over his skin in sunset-colors, reds and yellows and purples peeping around cloud-white bandages. There are more bandages on Qrow’s shoulder, thick but not thick enough to keep the blood from seeping through. 

Qrow is crowned with white and red roses, with blood-stained gauze, and this scares Shane the most because this is something he does not know.

Shane takes Qrow’s left hand in his and presses a kiss to each broken-mirror scar, and closes his eyes as fear swims behind his ribs, as tears drip down his face like rain on the window.

There are small mercies, this time. He doesn’t have to choose, doesn’t have to limp from one side of the hall to the other. He doesn’t have to try to arrange for someone to take care of Jas. There is nobody else here to snap at him for performing worry and grief incorrectly.

Too-small mercies.

“Hey buddy,” Qrow slurs eventually, or something like that, it’s so hard to understand him through the mask. His hand tightens fractionally around Shane’s. “Sorry I w’s late.”

Shane doesn’t remember making plans, or the last time he looked at a clock, and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. He tries to tell Qrow this but his throat is thick with bright copper fear, and instead he buries his face in Qrow’s palm, muffling something that is not a sob, cannot be a sob.

“Oh, oh,” Qrow says, and when Shane peeks at him through his own long cool fingers his eyes are heavy with a pain deeper than drugs can reach. “‘M sorry, forgot about you and hospitals.” Qrow’s hand slides around Shane’s face into his hair, patting at it in something more comforting in intent than execution.

Shane pulls Qrow’s arm down and hugs it to his chest, afraid to embrace him properly. “Don’t,” he chokes out because he knows what should be happening and Qrow comforting him isn’t it. “Don’t be sorry,” he says, even though he just wants to lean down and let Qrow wrap him up in strong steady arms.

Qrow’s eyes are intent on his face and his fingers tangle in Shane’s own, and whatever message is there Shane cannot understand, so he reaches out and gently pushes Qrow’s bangs back, because he knows how much the other man hates having them in his eyes.

Once he showed up with purple barrettes, pinned there by his niece and forgotten, and when Shane found them, Qrow had confessed his pain like it was a sin. Shane hadn’t understood, but the relief in Qrow’s eyes… Shane couldn’t take that away. 

“Your family,” Shane remembers. “Harvey wants to call them, tell them you’ll be here for a bit.”

Qrow curses rocks and Grimm and -for some bizarre reason- Gunther, then sighs. “They’re not expecting me back anytime soon.”

“Qrow.” Shane pushes his hair back again. Qrow is a mess and Shane doesn’t know a lot about this kind of thing, just enough to be scared.

Qrow shakes his head, turning his face against Shane’s palm. “You’re here,” he says, eyes closed, forehead pushed against Shane’s skin. “That’s enough.”

* * *

It is an unspoken agreement between Qrow and Harvey that nobody needs to know how bad it was, not when aura is so quick to close the wounds. Really, Qrow would be fine with a big bottle of bourbon and a long nap, but Harvey won’t go for it and Maru is Robin’s child, and Qrow will face Grimm nobody’s managed to name beyond “Arrgh!”, but he’s not stupid enough to piss of Glynda’s long-lost sister or anyone in her family.

He really needs to ask Glynda if she has a sister before she shows up for one holiday or another and things get real awkward.

Harvey has the same sad beautiful eyes as half the town, and that’s got more to do with it than anything else, so Qrow lets Harvey wrap him in soft bandages and keep him on a proper bed. It’s better than the alternative by at least three orders of magnitude. Better than the broken-hearted look when Harvey looks at him and says  _ you don’t get any prizes for suffering. _

Yeah, Qrow’s always been a sucker for that kind of thing.

Shane doesn’t stay as much as he would like to. Morris is an asshole, and animals have no respect for human drama, and Jas refuses to come in and Qrow won’t let anyone push her. But he’s here as much as he can be, and it’s not like Qrow is lacking company. Just the opposite, really, and sometimes he just closes his eyes and lets Maru throw everyone else out.

Most of them don’t have a  _ reason _ to be there except all the things heavy in the air unvoiced, all the secrets Qrow shares. Leah comes by with painted wood flowers that will never wilt, and Elliott with her. Abigail and Sam and Sebastian all come, and it might be the first time Qrow’s seen Sebastian anywhere but the pool table. Willie and Lewis and Pam, the closest Pelican Town comes to elders. Robin and Jodi and Caroline with snacks, Vincent silent at his mother’s side. Emily and Hayley, Alex and Evelyn with well-wishes from George. Gus and Linus with a bowl of spaghetti. Demetrius and Pierre in the awkward way of civilized men who don’t know how to help and Gunther and Gil in the manner of old hunters who know nothing really will. Qrow wonders if there’s a schedule. Qrow wonders if there’s a schedule so nobody overlaps and over-tires him.

Clint comes with Demetrius and Pierre, but he doesn’t look Qrow in the eye and he flees when nobody is looking at him. Qrow understands. It’s hard to do that when you’ve seen someone’s bones poking through their skin.

Nobody needs to know how bad it was, not when the relic is safe in the museum with Gunther. It’s not a  _ Relic, _ but it’s older than even Ozpin, an old stone disk from days long gone and magic just the same. It all worked out in the end and Qrow tries to convince everyone of that. He doesn’t want them thinking there’s something terrible in the mountains waiting for them.

Marlon brings him lunch almost every day. He doesn’t apologize, exactly, because Qrow would kick his ass, but the message on his answering machine, the unheard plea for backup hangs between them like a curtain beaded with blood. Guilt lurks in his silver eye and Qrow hates it, hates that Marlon’s blaming himself for Qrow’s own curse. 

Moreso than usual. It’s the first time Qrow’s semblance has triggered in Pelican Town in a very long time. He got sloppy, he made assumptions. His own damn fault, and look at this mess he made for Clint who found him, and Harvey who pieced him back together, for Maru and Marlon. 

Marnie comes, and she is one of the few who dare to touch him. Qrow hardly knows what to say to this woman at the best of times, this quiet woman with a heart big enough to rival James Ironwood’s and more patience than Qrow’s seen before. This is far from the best of times.

Yet she still brushes his hair out of his eyes, and smiles at him, and asks him if he wants to send any message to his nieces. Asks him if he wants her to bring anything. In her face Qrow sees the same bones as Shane has, and when she says anything he fears the power she’s placed in his hands.

Only once does she ask something of him. It’s when Maru has gone home and Harvey has disappeared and nobody else can overhear. Only then does she lean forward and say very quietly, “Do you know when you are coming home?”

He shrugs, wishes for his flask. Some of Caroline’s snacks are still on the table and he settles for fiddling with one of those.

“Jas misses you,” she says. 

He doesn’t know what to tell her. This valley changes him, makes him softer around the edges. Normally Qrow doesn’t give a shit what people think, or wants to make sure they have a… particular image of him in their head. This valley, this town, is gentle in a way he can’t explain, can’t return. He just tries to do minimal damage, because these people are who Oz wants to protect. “I’ll come before I go home.”

“Is the ranch not your home?” Marnie asks, and for a moment the whole world is grey and he doesn’t know why he can’t say no.

“I don’t,” Qrow stops. He’s going to go ahead and blame the painkillers, the concussion, or the lack of alcohol. He can’t finish the sentence.

Marnie doesn’t mind. “We voted on it.” She smiles at him, and he’s very confused, because he’s been very careful not to leave any traces of his presence. “We’ve adopted you.”

“Wait, what?” He doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know what she really means, because she can’t mean  _ that _ . “Robin said she was going to feed me to the woodchipper.”

Marnie shakes her head at that. “Robin,” she says, in the same impossibly fond tone of voice Glynda says  _ James _ . “You’ll learn her like the rest of us have. She’s not used to people who don’t need protection.”

Qrow tries to say no, tries to say something about his nieces, but that was never really his house and hasn’t been in a very long time. He manages, “I leave,” but nothing more.

“The crows behind Jojamart leave every year. Does that make the tree less their home when they return?” Marnie is quiet for a minute, and Qrow panics over how much she might know to keep from panicking over how much she knows, but shakes his head. “Then when you leave, we’ll welcome you back.”

She stands, and Qrow understands this is not something he gets a say in. This is the town deciding they’ll make a place for him, miss him when he’s gone and be happy when he returns and not ask questions about in-between. Whether he takes that place is an entirely separate decision.

He wants to.

He’s terrified.

* * *

Marlon’s come to see Qrow every day while Shane’s at work, and Shane doesn’t know what they talk about. Huntsmen business, he assumes. Once he was still behind the curtain when Shane came through the door, and he heard Marlon say, “This isn’t a damned game,” and Shane didn’t hear Qrow’s reply and he almost forgot it entirely.

Would have, if it wasn’t for Qrow looking at him after dinner and saying, “There’s nobody else.”

“Huh?” Shane says, quite intelligently. Gus brought dinner, and Harvey had let Shane move his television, so he wasn’t thinking about anything but pizza and gridball and how much longer Qrow was going to be stuck in bed. 

“When I leave, there’s nobody else,” Qrow said again, in the slow measured way he’d developed over the last week, picking his sentences so the pauses sound deliberate and not desperate. “Nobody like you.”

Shane lays his head on Qrow’s shoulder, careful not to jostle anything.

“My boss...he’s got plenty of missions for me,” Qrow says and Shane nods, because he’s seen Qrow on the phone before and he knows Qrow isn’t supposed to say more. “And my nieces, I promised to help with them.” Shane nods again, because Qrow told him this with purple bows pinned in his hair. “And my sister… it’s better if I meet her away from everyone else.” Qrow laughs bitterly and Shane nods because now does not feel like a good time to ask Qrow about this sister he’s never heard of.

“But there’s just you.” His thumb brushes over the knuckles of Shane’s hand. He smells more like blood than he usually does, but Harvey’s got soap that doesn’t smell too medical and it doesn’t quite cover the wild forest scent that clings to Qrow still. “There’s only you.”

There’s words they’ve never said, words that still hurt too much for Shane to say. Words Qrow is dangerously close to saying right now. Shane thinks maybe he could stand to hear them, thinks maybe he wants to try.

He wishes he had something to say to Qrow, something clever and reassuring, something that would put warmth in Qrow’s chest like the glow in his own. How does he tell Qrow he’s okay with waiting, with not being the top of the list? (He was  _ their  _ most important once, and no, never again, he won’t survive a second time.) How does he tell Qrow he knows the girls always come first, the girls who were never given a choice and can’t leave?

“I hope your boss is less of an asshole than Morris,” he settles on, looking up at Qrow’s face.

Qrow chuckles raspy and low, and his arm is around Shane and it’s almost normal. “That’s a low bar,” he says, then his face grows serious. “But I wanted you to know. This is real.”

“I know,” Shane promises, because it seems important to Qrow, even if he doesn’t know how it could be anything else.

Qrow presses a kiss to the top of Shane’s head and lingers there, and Shane can hear the hitch in his breath from still-healing lungs. Shane doesn’t know much about aura and he wonders if he’d be more worried if he did. Shane waits, but Qrow doesn’t say anything else, and Shane’s okay with that. He’s not very good at… he can’t even say the word. Qrow deserves better. But he’s made up his mind and Shane’s not cruel enough to push him away. No, Shane takes what is offered and clutches it greedily to his chest and doesn’t dare ask for more.

* * *

Taiyang loves Qrow too much to love him.

Qrow looks a hell of a lot like Raven, but even more like Summer. She got mistaken for their little sister, more than once, though the three of them could never see it. Tai had to explain, the third or fourth time, how much Summer looked a part of them. He showed them, traced the soft curve of Qrow’s jaw the same angle as Summer’s, kissed the corner of Raven’s ruby eyes as wide as silver ones. Raven wrapped her hands around Summer’s left and Qrow his around Summer’s right and their skin is the same color, the same peeled-oak pale so easy to mark red.

(They are named for the stark cold of winter, but they are painted in fire; red-yellow flame, white-black ash.)

And Tai put his hands over theirs, kissed them like he always did,  _ Summer-Raven-Qrow, _ oldest to youngest. Summer always kissed them alphabetically,  _ Qrow-Raven-Taiyang, _ and the twins never worried, just grabbed the nearest person and held on as tight as they could.

Tai loves Qrow too much to love him, and he refuses to kiss Qrow anymore.

He pushed Qrow away, not far, not even out of his bed, just out from under Tai’s skin. He stopped calling Qrow  _ baby _ when Yang was born, stopped calling him  _ love _ when Summer died. Now when he pulls Qrow in tight he calls him  _ brother, _ and only makes love to his own fist.

Qrow’s sharp the way some people are, the way some people learn to survive, but he’s got a blind spot where Tai is concerned, and after so long Taiyang knows his brother better than Qrow's own twin does.

He asks heaven, desperation thick in his voice, for someone to love Qrow. For someone who can take care of Qrow. For someone far away from the hot fucking mess that is Ozpin’s most necessary war, for someone who will set the world on fire to keep Qrow safe.

Tai’s not sure what made Qrow stop trusting him. There’s so many things it could be. He tries to accept it with grace. He tries to love Qrow and to pray for someone to come. Someone who can take Qrow’s weight like Tai used to, before Raven broke them and Summer shattered them. Some things can never be repaired, and Tai’s put fear in Qrow’s heart no man should have to live with, even though Qrow tried. As hard as it was for Tai to end it, he had to. They couldn’t.

Taiyang’s never had a body to bury, and if Qrow dies first he won’t make it to the funeral, so it’s a good thing Qrow’s too moon-cursed stubborn to die. The first time, Qrow and Summer took care of Yang. The second time, Qrow took care of the girls. A third time, and there would be nobody left.

Tai loves Qrow too much to love him.

And he  _ knows _ Qrow, he’s had time to learn him better than Summer or Raven. He knows that Qrow always feels second-best, always tag-along, always tolerated for another’s sake. Somewhere along the line Qrow was being, well,  _ Qrow _ , and it was hard to love him, but Taiyang still did because that’s what family means. There’s an open wound in Qrow where family should be, though, and rocks in his goddamn  _ head,  _ so somewhere in the blood and the booze that got twisted around to… well. They have a lot of history, and a lot of it is dark, and Tai’s done things he’s not proud of. Some of it was accidental, ripping open to bleed fresh scars he didn’t know were there.

Not all of it.

Taiyang knows Qrow, and he wishes for someone to love Qrow who’s never met Raven. Who can’t measure him against the ragged hole where Summer should be.

Qrow lights up when he talks about Pelican Town on the other side of the island, about Marlon with his silver eye, Robin’s sharp wit, Sam and Sebatian and Abigail who dream of being hunters. When he speaks of how Vincent misses his dad and Harvey does his best. When he tells Taiyang about Marnie who always offers him a place to sleep and Jas who’s so much like Yang, like Ruby.

Qrow  _ shines _ in a way Tai’s never seen when he talks of Shane, steady and serious and soaked in beer, whose soul may be simple but by no means shallow. Who’s damaged enough to understand Qrow and for Qrow to understand him. Shane is nothing like Summer or Raven or Tai himself, though Tai wishes he was more like Shane. Someone with roots deep in the earth, someone who gets up and gets done what’s needed, who tends to the tiny details and makes a home worth coming back to.

Tai doesn’t want to go to Pelican Town.

He wants Qrow to have something all his own, something he doesn’t have to share. Partly because of Raven, and all the things that still bear the scars she left. Mostly because Tai’s thought about it for an entire year and he’s come up with nothing Qrow wouldn’t cheerfully hand over without being asked. He even tells Qrow as much, the one time Qrow asks him to come. No, he won’t bring the girls. No, he won’t come. Qrow brings misfortune but Tai’s always been Qrow’s bad luck charm. He won’t wreck this for his brother.

Qrow doesn’t come home for a long time after that, doesn’t call or write for almost a month. And when he does, when Tai finds out that Qrow spent most of the time down it the valley on this very island, all Tai does is force a smile and tell him he’s glad he had a good time.

* * *

Qrow likes to call Ironwood the best of a bad lot, and it’s  _ true, _ the other two headmasters are pretty much his least favorite people on the planet, but it’s damning with faint praise. James is strong and smart and  _ funny, _ and most importantly, generous with the good stuff. Mantle is vodka country, but Qrow taught James about the smoky notes of bourbon, the sweet bite of whiskey; now James keeps a whole cabinet for just the two of them. Most of it Qrow brought, bought cheap down south and carried north under his weapon. James is a good student, learned quickly that the price tag doesn’t mean shit and drinking it neat is for people who have something to prove. 

Tonight though, they’re drinking James’ favorite stuff, Mantle-brewed and bottled cinnamon whisky. It’s not as strong as most, but it’s sweet and warm after a cold night's flight when all Qrow wants to do is sprawl on the floor, let James’ desk hold him up, and drink straight from the bottle.

It  _ claims  _ to be bold and fierce, on the label, but it’s more campfire than fireball, warm and fuzzy in Qrow’s blood like a soft blanket, purring under his skin. He really should have ignored Harvey, come up here, and crashed on James’ couch before. Save the whole town a lot of grief, and he would have healed up just fine. Probably.

“Schnee ever gonna get the tower up?”, Qrow asks, mostly because he hasn’t said anything for five whole minutes and Jimmy’s gotta be done with Ozpin’s note by now. It’s three sentences. An update, a question, an answer. Doesn’t matter what they are, really. James gets real territorial when it comes to Mantle, and Qrow doesn’t care enough to poke the bear. He’s not really a bear, though. Or a wolf or a lynx or a llama, anything like that. It’s impossible to see James as anything but a man.

James doesn’t answer, just takes the bottle from Qrow’s dangling fingers. He’s wearing his glove still, but Qrow’s not drunk enough or dumb enough to comment on it. When James hands it back, definitely lighter, Qrow swears the feeling of smooth glass travels up his nerves like the slow drag of a finger through syrup, sending slow waves through his arm of not unpleasant static. Qrow could sleep here, right on the floor. Whiskey for a blanket, a pillow, safe inside where he can’t get tangled.

Does James know Qrow would still come, even without messages? 

“No rush on the reply,” Qrow continues. He can feel his semblance swelling inside his bones, cold and black, and he takes another swig of the bright poison, beating it back for a little while longer. It’s been hours, he’s going to wreck something before dawn. James can take it.

Shane could too, but it sleeps quieter under Shane’s hands, and Qrow doesn’t want to examine that too closely. Some things cannot stand the harsh glare of mercury-fluorescence, so Qrow lets it lie. He’s a different man in the valley, and that man isn’t strong enough for the cold floor, for the sharp corner of the desk digging into his shoulder, for James never asking if he’s okay.

Of course James doesn’t ask. Qrow’s always just fine. James never asks uncomfortable questions like where Qrow disappeared for almost a month, like why he grabs three souvenirs for little girls rather than two. Like what exactly he did with the Spring Maiden.

(He’s pretty sure James thinks Qrow shot her, which is just stupid for exactly eight reasons, starting with if she was dead, they’d have to go  _ find _ the next one all over again.)

Qrow doesn’t ask James either, though he knows James isn’t having the best week, month, year. Nobody gossips as much as bachelor crows, and they about chatted his ear off before James opened the window, twelve black voices like gravel underfoot and all of them saying the same thing. Telling him the water-bringer isn’t having fun.

James is saying something, starts talking about how Ozpin is wrong, too slow and not careful enough. Qrow listens with less than half an ear as James describes in great detail what he would do if he was Ozpin. Qrow doesn’t bother to correct him this time, it’s not worth the fight. James isn’t being concrete, really, mostly blowing off steam and complaining because the council is giving him a hard time again. 

The metal of his wrist peeks out between his glove and his sleeve, catching the light and Qrow’s eye.

James is still wearing his glove even though Qrow knows what’s under there. “It doesn’t matter, you know,” Qrow says, interrupting his reorganization of Beacon’s peacekeepers.

“I know that,” James snaps, then after a pause he asks, “What doesn’t matter?”

“The glove.” Qrow takes another drink of liquor. “I know your hand is metal. You know I know. And you know I don’t care. So why do you wear it when it’s just us?”

“Why do you care?” James shoots back. “If you don’t care why do you have to see it?” There’s something in his voice, some edge Qrow’s own drunkenness is blurring.

Qrow stands up, because his instincts say he should for this and logic is passed out with a lampshade on its head. “Because,” he says, explaining to himself as much as to James. “It means you really don’t know that I don’t care.” He punctuates this by setting the bottle down on the desk, the sound loud in the suddenly silent office.

“You do care then,” James argues, picking up the bottle. “You want to know you’re  _ special _ enough to see my  _ special _ hand.”

He makes it sound like a bad thing and they don’t break eye contact as James drains an inadvisable amount of the bottle. Qrow spares a stray prayer that his mechanical liver is as strong as Qrow’s aura-healed one. “You don’t trust me,” his mouth says while his attention is distracted.

“You,” James growls, standing up. “You’re-”

“I’m  _ what, _ Jimmy?” Qrow asks, not backing down. He swipes the bottle from James, points the neck at him, accidentally pours a little out. They both ignore the spill. “What am I that you won’t trust me?”

They are still for a moment, and Qrow knows what James is thinking about, and he knows James knows Qrow knows, and they are a very knowledgeable pair, the two of them. The bottle swings heavy in his hand, everything they’ve shared, everything Qrow’s taken from him and James keeps rubbing it in his face that he’ll never be good enough.

“Give me the bottle,” James says quietly.

“No.”

“Give me my whiskey back.” James’ eyes burn electric blue, pilot lights waiting for the gas.

“What am I?” Qrow asks again, and he can feel his own face hardening into a battle mask.

“You know,” James says, heavy and rough, pebbles skittering down before the rockslide. “You know and everyone knows, your  _ crows _ love me for it, everyone looks at it, it’s not a secret, why do you make me keep pulling it  _ off?  _ Why won’t you leave me to my shame in  _ peace?” _

“S’nothing,” Qrow starts, reflexively, to remind James there’s nothing to be ashamed of. He did nothing wrong, after all. Come to think of it, Qrow’s not really sure what happened. He’s never asked, because that part didn’t matter.

“Don’t tell me how to fucking _ feel _ ,” James snaps, snatching the bottle back. The whiskey must douse a good part of his anger, because he slumps down in his chair as he swallows. “If it really doesn’t matter, let me pretend,” he pleads, and it sounds so wrong coming from him. James isn’t made for begging.

Qrow pulls himself up to sit on James’ desk, make himself small. Makes himself the man from the valley, the one who isn’t an extension of Ozpin. The bird who lives behind the store, not the stormcrow bearing ill news. “They don’t,” he says. That’s wrong, it must be corrected. “The crows.”

“What about the crows?”, James frowns in confusion, looks over his shoulder at the window before turning back to Qrow.

“Everything around here’s shiny. That’s not why you’re special.” Qrow dips his finger in the whiskey spilled on the desk, pulls a line out, another and another until it’s a wobbly gear. Circles it with a wing or maybe an eye. Even when he’s tamed, he’s still  _ Qrow.  _

James’ head tilts suspiciously like Zwei’s. “The crows don’t like me,” he says, like he doesn’t quite believe it. Like he’s holding onto it even though he knows he shouldn’t.

“Oh, they love you,” Qrow assures him. “They call you the water-bringer.” James is basically their favorite person in Atlas, and they love him. The crows are smart enough to recognize how conscientious he is of their care, the attention he pays to their water and their food and their shelter. Qrow wonders if anyone else in Atlas knows James is looking out for a little family of birds for no reason other than kindness. He really doubts it. Not when James doesn’t dare take his glove off. Not when James hears that, general and headmaster and shocked to near-tears at the idea he is more than that tin man. He opens his mouth and Qrow wonders what blood is about to come out.

Qrow’s semblance cracks out like lightning, and the bottle’s fall shatters the moment in broken glass.

* * *

It’s Friday night, and the teenagers have developed an elaborate rotation for the dancing. Shane tries to ignore them, but it’s so difficult when they keep coming over to the jukebox. To where Shane sits, digging his fingernails into his palms.

It’s not fair, that they had what he couldn’t. What he was too afraid to have. It’s not fair that his caution was punished and their recklessness rewarded. It’s not fair and it would be even less far to stop them, to wipe away Sam’s too-rare smile, to send Sebastian scurrying back into his mother’s basement, to light fear and pity in Abigail’s blue eyes. Shane drinks, and lets the pain ground him, and keeps his mouth shut except for beer and studiously ignores the way Gus looks at him.

If Qrow were here, he wouldn’t be angry at his skin for failing to bleed. If Qrow was here, they’d be feeding the crows behind Jojamart, or taking a six pack to the water, or sitting in this bar next to the jukebox, and Qrow would buy pepper poppers, insist Shane eat them, and with his hands full Shane wouldn’t be able to dig his nails into his palm.

He won’t ask Emily for poppers, not now. They taste better with Qrow, she makes them special, or there's a lingering spice from Qrow’s own skin, Shane doesn’t know which. They just are better when Qrow is next to him, their legs brushing under the bar. Everything is better when Qrow is near, his simple presence bringing some semblance of peace to Shane that he does not deserve.

It has been one year since Qrow asked for a second chance at a first night.

One year of Shane faking human better than he has been since before he came back home, since he was afraid to dance with two people at once. One year and Shane can finally manage to keep his mouth closed even though the old bitterness and bile rise in his throat as Sam’s hands rest on Sebastian’s waist, as Abigail presses a kiss to Sam’s cheek. He keeps his mouth shut and clenches his fists around his own shame and allows himself to wish Qrow was next to him.

Elliott says hello to him, and Shane doesn’t dare to answer him at first, can only manage a half-civil, “What do you want?”, as Elliot sits down one place away from Shane, leaving Qrow’s stool empty.

“Don’t mind him,” Emily says, bringing over a couple of slices of pizza Shane definitely didn’t ask for, isn’t going to pay for, but will eat anyways. “He’s a bear when Qrow’s gone.”

“How is our newest friend?” Elliott asks, bright as a shiny penny and dumb as a rock. “I haven’t seen him since he left Harvey’s tender care.”

“Why do you care?” Shane asks, and he doesn’t want an answer, he wants Elliott to go away. He wants to forget Qrow laying pale and quiet in Harvey’s clinic. He wants to forget that Qrow is out there again slaying monsters and keeping people safe, doing something that matters, while Shane drinks and stocks shelves and drinks. 

Elliott’s face falls, and Shane lets the guilt stab him. Elliott was just being friendly, after all, he doesn’t deserve to bear the brunt of Shane’s worry. Shane shouldn’t worry, after all, doesn’t Qrow always say he’s the best, say nobody else can do what he does? Everyone else trusts him, why can’t Shane?

Emily distracts Elliott, and Shane wishes Qrow was here for the sixth time since sunset. He fakes human so much better when Qrow is around. He becomes an entirely different person, a false Shane made of what people expect and deserve and need, one who doesn’t ruin the mood simply by existing. One who wouldn’t make Elliott sad and Emily run around fixing what he breaks.

Yes, he thinks for the seventh time, it would be a public service if Qrow walked through the door. Not just for Shane, but for everyone unlucky enough to cross his path.

Lucky number seven sees the door open, and Qrow’s broad shoulders fill it, sees everyone smile and wave greetings to Qrow as he makes his way towards Shane’s shadowy corner. Qrow nods back, distracted, pale red eyes searching for Shane’s face, and Shane knows the exact instant Qrow spots him. Qrow smiles, small and secret and immensely powerful, and Shane feels his own lips curving up in answer.

* * *

“The Flower Dance,” Qrow says, “that’s a big deal around here.” It’s days away, and Jas is talking about nothing else, and Qrow finds himself caring about if Alex will actually ask Hayley this year. Most of the town thinks he won’t, but Jas has inside information.

“Yeah,” Shane says. He’s no vision of beauty in the late-afternoon light slanting through the kitchen window, not after hours on his feet schlepping boxes. He looks sweaty and exhausted and vaguely disappointed. He looks  _ real _ .

“Marlon asked me,” Qrow says, and there’s a flickering  _ torrent _ of emotions across Shane’s face too fast for Qrow to catch more than one in three. Grief and confusion and anger and loss and every variation on that theme and Qrow kicks himself. “Because of the  _ monsters, _ Shane,” he says, grabbing Shane’s arm, holding him tight.

“The monsters, yeah,” Shane repeats, blinking something off his face and meeting Qrow’s gaze. “Grimm crashing the party would be a real bummer.”

The Grimm are quieter than usual this winter. Some people see that as a chance to relax and take hope and spend less energy on the drudgery of safety. Marlon doesn’t. Qrow doesn’t. They know it won’t last. They know the island will pay for peace in the spring.

Qrow tugs Shane closer, loops an arm around his shoulders. “Is it just a town thing? I’ve never been to one. Marlon made it sound like something my nieces would like.” 

Shane shrugs. “It’s not like the Egg Festival, nobody cares but us. Lewis wouldn’t kick people out or anything, but there’s no…” He trails off. Qrow doesn’t know anything about the Flower Dance except what Marlon told him, and he’s starting to suspect that Marlon’s up to something.

“We used to bring Jas,” Shane continues, and like he always does when he thinks of his nameless hungry ghosts, he digs his nails into his palms until Qrow unfolds Shane’s fingers, twines them with his own. Shane’s hands are warm and broad and strong and gentle, like Taiyang’s. His grip is tight and solid and unbreakable, unshakable. Nothing like Taiyang’s.

Sometimes Shane knows what Qrow’s getting at. Usually when they’re both too drunk for the right words and they have to fumble the wrong ones. They’re not drunk now. Maybe they should be, because Shane says, “You can bring the girls. I know they don’t know. It’s okay. I understand.”

_ Just Tai _ , echoes in Qrow’s head, a dim cool night so different from the honey-warm kitchen, and something so fragile in his cupped hands, and the slow creeping realization that Qrow was entirely wrong to say it, to say  _ just Tai _ .

“We hid it,” Shane continues, and Qrow lets him because Qrow is a bad man. He has to be a bad man because Shane will apparently be with only… bad people. “Even here they were just my friends,” Shane says, his voice so soft around the unspoken why. “Even with my family.”

When he’s sure Shane’s done, when he’s as sure as he can be of not saying the wrong words, Qrow says to the ceiling, “Yeah, I’ll bring them, and Tai.” There is an ache in his chest aura cannot touch, and he does not know the right thing to say, but he fumbles towards it anyways and prays Shane doesn’t throw him out like he deserves. “If they’d be welcome.”

“Of course they’d be welcome,” Shane says, a frown settling in the well-worn creases of his brow and Qrow wants to kiss it away.

“They should meet my boyfriend.” Qrow doesn’t trip over the words. They're the best ones he can come up with, and they are so small against the hole two people left bleeding in Shane’s chest, two people Qrow is steadily learning to hate. “He’s too important to hide.”

“Qrow?” Shane’s voice is soft and uncertain, and Qrow hooks his fingers around Shane’s hips, solid and warm, draws him close enough for Shane to lay his head on Qrow’s shoulder, so close Qrow can count the eyelashes curling across his cheek. Shane is heavy and soft and real in his arms, and he finds himself swaying to the rhythm of Shane’s breathing.

Half-hidden and safe, Shane takes a step backwards, and Qrow doesn’t let him go, and then they are  _ dancing. _

Only by the most charitable definition, as Qrow spins them in slow lazy circles and Shane lets him lead like Qrow has ever had a goddamn clue what he was doing. Once, twice, thrice around the kitchen and Shane’s mouth is open just the tiniest bit and Qrow would like to kiss him but he does not want to stop, he does not want this whirring moment to end. He wants to feel Shane’s breath feathering across his neck, he wants to feel the shift of muscles under his fingers as Shane rocks with him.

Qrow wants to hide Shane away where nobody will ever hurt him, and he wants the whole town to see Shane against his chest, and he wants to flee before he can leave scars on Shane’s heart worse than those already crossing it. He wants to wake up on Shane’s shoulder every morning and he wants to leave so he won’t see the disappointment in his dark eyes. He wants to fall to his knees before Shane and beg for direction. He wants to shake Shane until Shane stops being such a heartbreakingly beautiful disaster.

Point to point, future to future they move, Shane so trusting in Qrow’s grip and Qrow cannot bear to choose, cannot bear to see Shane’s eyes lowered in shame and self-loathing. Their bones are the same and he knows Shane would blame himself for failing to keep up, regardless of what is actually said. His heart is heavy with fear, but he says the words anyways, thick and rough, crow-favorite shiny forged from steel. “You’re too important to hide,” he murmurs, cups Shane’s jaw in his palm and tilts his head up for a kiss.

* * *

After the Flower Festival, Jas hugs Yang and Ruby, and Taiyang trades phone numbers with Marnie and shakes Shane’s hand. He’s tall and strong and golden and beautiful, and when he stands next to Qrow they look like a matched set, sun and shattered moon, moving in each other’s space as if they share one mind. They were touching all afternoon, shoulders brushing and hands catching attention, knees pressed together when they sat next to each other, Tai fixing Qrow’s hair with gentle fingers and Qrow’s arm slung around Tai’s neck as he murmured something that made Tai smile.

Almost, Shane could see them together, could wonder that Qrow ever wanted him. That Qrow would ever want anything besides this shining bright man with clever hands fixing flower crowns and clever words to charm the rest of the town and eyes blue as the sea. Almost Shane doesn’t believe he and Qrow could have ever shared anything.

Qrow’s very persuasive when he wants to be, though. He takes Shane’s face in his hands and kisses him like he’s drowning, in front of Tai and Lewis and everyone. Shane’s never been kissed like this, by anyone, claiming and public and clean as a kids’ movie, sweet and open and Qrow dragging his fingers through Shane’s hair as he pulls himself away. 

It’s a good kiss. It’ll keep Shane warm for days, he knows as he watches Qrow walk away with his arm around Tai’s shoulders and Ruby on his hip. With luck, the glow will last under his ribs until Qrow can steal away from his family again. But he doesn’t have time to think about that too much. He has to take Jas home and help Marnie with the night chores. Animals have no respect for human holidays.

When he comes out of the chicken coop, a shadow detaches itself in the sunset from a tree. Qrow, a wine bottle dangling from his fingers. “Hey,” he says, soft and uncertain. “You done for the night?”

Shane nods, questions tangled inside his throat. He turns and waves at Marnie through the kitchen window, and she waves back with a smile for Qrow. Qrow reaches for Shane with his empty hand and Shane’s hand fills it, his thick fingers folding over Qrow’s delicate bones. Qrow doesn’t say anything as he leads Shane west, around the old fallen behemoth of an oak to the secret grove, where the stumps are low and broad enough for them to sit on the same one.

Qrow twists open the wine and offers it to Shane. It’s salmonberry, sweet as soda, and they take turns sipping it straight from the bottle. Neither of them drink around the girls. Only alcoholics drink in front of children. So as long as the girls don’t see, they don’t have a problem. And it has been a very long day of sun, of wondering, of glances sliding away as soon as Shane notices them. The grove is green and soft, and Qrow’s arm around him is warm, and he can feel Qrow’s breathing steady and deep.

Shane says nothing, lets the wine wrap him in warmth even as Qrow traces slow circles on his sleeve. He doesn’t know why Qrow is here and not with his family. He doesn’t know why Qrow kissed him like that. He doesn’t know if he’s upset about it.

In a small town, you pretend not to see, you have to pretend not to see, so that they pretend not to see you. You keep your secrets best you can to keep from walking naked past your neighbors, keep them out of sight and nobody mentions them, and only that polite lie keeps the whole town from going mad. Even though everyone knew that Qrow and Shane are fucking, nobody knew until Qrow kissed him. Until Qrow showed Emily and Harvey and Elliott and Robin, without asking Shane, without even a warning.

Shane hasn’t decided if he’s upset about that yet. Now when Qrow leaves the town will be  _ concerned, _ and Shane will have no defense against their care and their interference. He’ll be interrogated, and they’ll demand he perform in ways they didn’t do when Qrow was just his drinking buddy lying in Harvey’s clinic and Shane was just keeping him company, and nobody dared say anything and nobody dared to pry open his heart sealed in blood. 

He is disappointed. All this time he thought Qrow was ashamed of him, or at least trying to keep what they had quiet. All this time he thought Qrow was smart enough to know what he was getting into, thought Qrow knew what to expect. Shane is not for dancing, for soft kisses, for shared wine. Shane is for quick fucks and cheap beer and stolen moments away from what counts. Qrow could do so much better if he only tried.

“Does Robin have a sister?"Qrow asks the fireflies, apropos of nothing.

“No, just Pierre," Shane says, taking another drink. Qrow is solid and strong under Shane’s weight, and if he wants to ruin his life, well, Shane will take what is offered and be grateful. He’s a selfish man, always has been, always will be, and he loves the pale red warmth of Qrow too much to push it away. He  _ loves _ Qrow, and he’ll keep that safe behind his teeth even as it makes him grasping and greedy, hungry for the scent of him, thirsty for the taste of Qrow’s skin in the dark. Qrow could do so much better if he tried, and oh, Shane hopes he never does. “Why?”

Qrow sighs and swipes the bottle, a quick drink and Shane aches to follow the muscles of his throat. “I know a lady like her,” Qrow says. “She takes care of the crows at Beacon.” He is quiet, swirling the bottle in his hand, and it’s another swig before he confesses, “I knew about the crows at Jojamart. Before you showed me.”

Shane thinks this might be something important, but he’s too drunk to know what it means and too sober to care. “And you needed wine to tell me?”

Qrow hands him the bottle back, takes something out of his pocket and fiddles with it. “No,” he says after a moment, standing up so suddenly Shane almost tips over. “No, I needed it for this.”

Tinny music drips out of his hand, out of the tiny speaker he brought and now sets on the stump. He holds his hand out to Shane and says, “You told the girls you didn’t want to dance while everyone was looking. That you weren’t going to ask me.”

Shane stares at the offered hand dumbly. Ruby had asked why people were dancing, and Jas had explained, and Yang asked why Shane wasn’t dancing with her uncle and Shane panicked and said the first thing that popped into his head. He hadn’t known Qrow was listening, and now Qrow is painted in green and gold reaching out for Shane and Shane is ashamed of himself for lying.

Couples dance at the Flower Festival, and Shane’s been a dirty little secret for so long, and though Qrow introduced him to his family with his arm around his waist, though the whole town looks to Shane when they want Qrow, Shane was afraid to ask.

He didn’t trust Qrow, didn’t dare to ask, and it’s nothing Qrow has ever given him reason to believe, but he is ashamed, was ashamed, expected to sleep tonight curled against his shame like a lover, and Shane knows very well how people sleep with their shame.

But Qrow is here now, holding his hand out and waiting like he always is, waiting for Shane, and the music is soft and he tugs Shane up off the stump gentle as anything, and Qrow folds Shane against his chest, swaying in the breeze and the melody.

Qrow’s shirt is old and soft, and his fingers comb through Shane’s hair, and he says against Shane’s ear, “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, you know that.”

Shane nods, his face hidden, and his hands are flat on Qrow’s back and he can feel the muscles underneath. Not quite the same as Shane’s from simple labor, ranch and retail, but not so different either. They are not so different, maybe.

“I would have danced with you.” Qrow lays his cheek against the top of Shane’s head, and his hands never stop moving and he never stops swaying, and Shane can hear Qrow’s heart loud under his ear and it occurs to him that maybe he hurt Qrow. That maybe Qrow wanted to dance with him.

That maybe Qrow was waiting to be asked.

“But I don’t need to,” Qrow continues, his grip tightening. “You know that, right? We can do whatever you like. Just let me tell Tai, and we can do whatever you want.” He brushes a kiss against Shane’s temple like he was tempted to long ago and can no longer resist. “I’ll lie if you want to,” Qrow says, his voice cracking, and Shane feels him shudder under his hands.

_ I’ll lie if you want me to _ , Qrow had said so long ago, and Shane had thought he meant one thing, and Shane is starting to realize he meant something else entirely.  _ Just Tai, _ Qrow repeats, and only now does Shane know what he means.

This is not some secret shared only with Taiyang. This is a secret Qrow cannot keep from Taiyang, a secret he thought Shane wanted nobody else to know.

“Whoever you want, babe, whatever you want,” Qrow pleads, “Just tell me who to keep it from or who can know, I don’t care, please-”, and Shane tugs him down down and kisses him until he stops saying things so painfully familiar. 

Once  _ they  _ didn’t want anyone to know, and he had begged to tell Marnie, and he thought this was like  _ that _ and now he knows he has hurt Qrow. “I’m sorry,” he says against Qrow’s lips, hardly knowing what’s spilling from his own. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be proud of yourself, I didn’t want to assume.”

Now it is Qrow’s turn to cut him off, pull him tight and interrupt with, “You can always assume I’d be proud to call you mine,” and Shane has to press his face to Qrow’s shoulder and fight back tears.

That’s too much, and Shane shouldn’t have said it in the first place, that’s nothing Shane has ever heard from anyone, even Marnie, and he didn’t know how much he needed it until he did, and oh, it’s not fair to Qrow to make him repair what was broken so long ago.

So he frees himself from the embrace and grabs the wine and drinks it until he’s swallowed down tears he won’t let fall.

“I’m sorry,” Qrow says behind him. “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

Shane turns and offers him the bottle and says, “Don’t be,” and says, “It’s okay,” and says, “I forgive you,” and only then does Qrow take the wine. “We’ll put a notice up on Pierre’s board,” Shane says, greatly daring. Guessing. He doesn’t understand why Qrow is with him, why he wants to be  _ known _ as Shane’s, but who is he to deny Qrow? Qrow has put so much in Shane’s hands, so much Shane doesn’t deserve, so much Shane doesn’t know what to do with and didn’t even realize he had, and he doesn’t know why Qrow is apologizing when it’s Shane who has done so wrong.

Qrow laughs, relieved and harsh like his namesake, kisses him and says, “Promise?”, and when Shane promises Qrow drops to his knees on the pine needles.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” Qrow murmurs, his fingers drawing circles on Shane’s hips and Shane shucks off his hoodie, lets Qrow tug his shorts down. “Just tell me what you want,” he says against Shane’s waist, his hands sliding hot up Shane’s thighs, and Shane makes himself believe Qrow. “I’m trying, I swear I’m doing my best.”

“You’re doing wonderful,” Shane says, cutting him off. It’s not Qrow’s fault Shane didn’t understand. Qrow’s doing everything right, but Shane is not the person to do things right by. He sits down hard on the stump and pulls Qrow close. “So good to me,” he shakes his head. “So much more than I deserve.”

Qrow kisses Shane’s knee, where the scars are the knottiest, higher and higher like he doesn’t care how soft Shane’s legs have become. “You don’t even know,” he presses into Shane’s skin, runs his tongue in the crease of Shane’s hip and Shane folds over Qrow’s head.

Qrow always sucks cock like it’s a sacrament, atonement or forgiveness or grace, and Shane’s long given up attempts to stop him. Just presses circles in the wings of his shoulders and praises in the shell of his ear and lets Qrow feel he’s earned whatever he’s looking for. But before the wave spills over hot and white, he pulls Qrow’s mouth off and pulls Qrow into his arms, slides off the stump into Qrow’s lap and wishes he could turn back time, wishes he had asked Qrow to dance.

He cannot, but he can trace the sharp line of his cheekbone and press him back, back, until Qrow’s lying on the thick carpet of pine needles with his cape tucked under his head like a pillow.

Shane’s not good with words. Or grand romantic gestures. Or making plans. Or rising to the occasion. Shane’s not good at most things, really.

But he’s good at this, or at least does it in a way Qrow likes.

Qrow likes to take the lead and Shane lets him, lets Qrow do whatever he wants, touch him wherever he wants. Qrow’s hands move like birds flitting from one perch to another, brushing featherlight on Shane’s skin. Shane’s hands are heavy and careful and slow and Qrow chases them with a liquid roll of his spine. Shane doesn’t know what comfort Qrow takes from him, how Qrow could take comfort from him, but he doesn’t argue.

There’s something about undressing Qrow that’s like unarmoring him, like his clothes cover more than his body. Like every button Shane slips through its hole lays open something tender and vulnerable, something that needs to be sheltered, and Shane can do that much.

Shane lets Qrow take shelter in his arms, between his legs, in his mouth and in his body, holds fast as beneath him Qrow shudders and shakes and falls apart. Lets Qrow hold onto him with trembling hands, and tries to soothe Qrow with his own in long, slow strokes, careful and gentle, and after, he rolls on his back so Qrow can pillow his head on Shane’s chest, runs his fingers through Qrow’s hair and preens it smooth. 

He doesn’t say anything, and trusts Qrow now like he wishes he did before. Lets the silence and the way he strokes Qrow’s hair do the speaking for him. And only when Qrow turns his head to look at him does Shane speak.

“Stay with me tonight,” he says, pushing Qrow’s hair out of his pale red eyes, and Qrow nods, and Shane thinks maybe it will be okay after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
